Appearances
by dhawthorne
Summary: Appearances can be deceiving - a lesson Mrs. Winifred Banks learns all too well when Mary Poppins "pops in". Mrs. Banks/Mary Poppins, Bert/Mary Poppins.
1. Chapter 1

Appearances

***

Heavily influenced by ladyvivien's fic Imperfect. This fic is dedicated to both ladyvivien for writing her brilliant fic, and violettavalery for putting the idea of Mrs. Banks/Mary into my head.

***

She suspected there was something different about her from the first moment they met. It was in the way she immediately took control of the situation, the ways she made them feel as though _they_ were subject to her pleasure, not the other way around. It was her appearance – too proud, too perfect. It was her arrogance, which she wore as naturally as her clothes, in her scorn for all things imperfect. It was her imperious manner. Her big blue eyes that took in everything. Her hands... those slender yet strong hands, the whitest and softest Winifred Banks had ever seen...

She dreamed of those hands at night, those hands holding hers, undoing Winifred's elaborate hairstyle, unlacing her corset, exploring, caressing, touching...

She would wake up with a gasp, aroused and unsatisfied, feeling... unclean for thinking such thoughts. How could she feel this way about the woman whose hands dried her children's tears, took their hands as they crossed the street... the woman whose hands ran along the contours of her lover's body?

There was a reason Mary Poppins was only practically perfect. Winifred knew she was seeing Bert. Even Mary Poppins could not hide the pleased expression that always graced her beautiful, Dutch-doll face when Bert appeared. Even Mary Poppins could not hide that she was always in a better mood after her Second Tuesdays off. And, try as she might, she could not hide the physical signs of her love affair.

She had once – only once – returned looking less-than-perfect. Yes, her clothes were perfectly in order, her cheeks flushed slightly as usual, her blue eyes with a sparkle that only appeared after her nights with Bert – but there was a slight reddish mark on her collarbone, just visible through the thin white cotton of her blouse.

Jealousy overwhelmed Winifred Banks, the strongest emotion she felt in years. She bit her lip, hard, drawing blood – it had been so many years since she had been in Mary's position, so many years since she had been... loved.

No one noticed the scarlet liquid dripping. No one except Mary Poppins.

***

Mary Poppins' next Second Tuesday coincided with Winifred's most vivid dream yet. Mary's hands unbound her own hair this time, her hair soft and thick and heavy, with a substance and presence quite unlike her own blonde locks. The hair fell dark as night and shining around her face, curtaining her off from the rest of the world – except Winifred.

Those red lips parted and blue eyes sparkled as she unbuttoned the bodice of her dress, then began to unlace her corset. Her perfect breasts just emerged from her corset when George let out a grunt, and Winifred woke up.

She slipped out of bed and went downstairs. It was dark out, and for once Winifred's natural reserve abated for a moment. Opening the front door, she stepped out onto the veranda and ran right into Mary Poppins.

She was sitting quietly on her favourite bench, her hands folded neatly in her lap, the umbrella clutched tightly in her white-gloved hands.

'Hello, Mrs. Banks,' she said, not even needing to look up.

'Hello, Mary Poppins,' Winifred replied, feeling rather silly for using her full name. But she felt compelled to – simply 'Mary' would not suit her half as well.

They sat there in silence for quite some time, Winifred openly staring at Mary Poppins. Mary's gaze remained steadfastly fixed on some point ahead of her.

Suddenly, the sound of someone whistling began, followed soon after by footsteps at the end of the street. The closer they came, the happier Mary seemed to become, and by the time Bert was in sight, she was smiling widely.

Winifred watched her grow happier as each moment passed, burning with jealousy. It wasn't _fair_, she thought, Mary Poppins had everything.

As though she had heard her, Mary turned to her for the first time all night and said, 'I don't have everything.'

Winifred was shocked by Mary's unsolicited and out-of-character answer, although it was precisely what she wanted to hear. Winifred was even more shocked when Mary Poppins laid a gentle, white-gloved hand on her cheek. But despite her shock, she recovered quickly, resting her hand on top of Mary's.

However much Winifred wished the moment to go on forever, Mary gently extricated her hand.

'Some hot milk shall help you to sleep,' she said. 'Good night, Mrs. Banks.'

'Good night, Mary Poppins,' Winifred replied mechanically, her hand resting against the spot where Mary's hand had lain.

Bestowing Mrs. Banks with what might be a smile, she gracefully stepped off the porch to meet her lover.

She slipped her hand into his, giving it a warm squeeze. He beamed down at her, pleased that she was with him once more.

As soon as they returned to his tiny flat, they embraced, Mary's lips meeting his with a desperate passion. But as he returned her kisses with fervour, she thought not of him, but of Winifred Banks.

***

Winifred Banks did not take Mary Poppins' advice, instead choosing to remain on the porch. What was Mary doing now? Was she in bed with Bert? Was she allowing him to draw rough, indelicate hands along her skin? Did she sully her pale hands by touching him?

She burst into tears. How could she be so jealous of her children's nanny? How could she wish that those hands would caress _her_ instead of Bert? How could she long to have Mary release her hair from its tight confines, unlace her corset... kiss her?

Maybe it was just loneliness, longing for any form of human contact. Her children did not seek her company, being well pleased with the companionship of Mary Poppins, and her husband was always so busy with his work.

Perhaps she was not cut out to be a wife, a mother. Maybe that was why she wasn't happy. But if she hadn't been so inept in her duties to her family she never would have met Mary Poppins. Would she be better off, not knowing Mary Poppins? No, she didn't think so. For all the jealousy she felt in regards to the nanny, she had opened her eyes, awakening her once more, making her aware of what was missing in her life.

The sun was beginning to rise – she'd evidently been outside far longer than she realised. Soon her family would wake up, the servants would begin breakfast, and her life would begin again.

Already Mary Poppins' caress felt as dim as a half-forgotten dream, though she tried desperately to hold on to the remnants of the sensations she had felt earlier that day. It was to no avail – the harder she tried to gather the fragile threads of her memory, the further they slipped away.

She walked inside, gliding almost silently up the stairs, to her bedroom. George was in the bathroom, getting ready for the day. As he hummed to himself, she realised that he hadn't bothered to look where she was. It hurt.

Didn't she come first for anyone?

***

'Mary mine,' Bert whispered as he began to kiss her passionately. It had been a month since they were last together, and he had wanted her. He hated sneaking around like this, but he knew she would never be happy to give up nannying. So he forced himself to be content with these stolen Second Tuesdays.

'Cor, Mary!' He nuzzled her neck as he backed her up against the wall, pressing himself firm against her. Her hips rolled against his automatically, her head dropping back to allow one moan to slip from her lips.

That was enough for Bert, and he swept her up into his arms, carrying her to the bed. As he dropped her on top of the covers, he took a moment to look down at her.

She was perfection itself. Her normally creamy skin was flushed, blue eyes dark with desire, lips rosy from kissing him, and her slim figure nearly trembled with anticipation. As she leaned forward to kiss him, he took the opportunity to begin to unbutton her dress, sliding the cotton frock off her body. Reaching beneath her petticoats, he pushed them up in order to remove her shoes. Next were the stockings, then the knickers, and finally her corset.

He was still fully clothed, but took care of undressing himself quite quickly. He never bothered her with the trivialities of removing clothes – he wanted her to have all the pleasure, for seeing her happy was all he needed.

She let another soft moan escape from her lips as he settled on the bed, pulling her on top of him. He was so handsome; strong, yet gentle, and she adored him.

As he ran his fingers along her spine, she shivered, pressing herself closer against him. She felt his erection swell, causing her to shiver once more. Very gently, he brought his other hand to her back, caressing, exploring. He was unable to hold himself back much longer, and so he gently parted her legs. She sat up, straddling him, in order to better accommodate him, and his hands settled possessively around her waist.

Placing her hands firmly on his chest, she began to move on top of him in a familiar rhythm, gasping as she grew more aroused. He watched her, and, as he grew closer to his climax, pulled her down on top of him.

Her hair, falling like midnight silk down her back, her now-flushed skin, her perfect figure made her look for all the world like a goddess. Even the many times they had been together did not make the sight any less powerful or arousing to Bert, who felt himself entirely privileged to be the only one to see her thus.

Her nails dug into his chest as she gasped, increasing her pace as she began to climax. 'Oh, God, Bert, Bert!' she cried.

He rolled her onto her back, careful to rest only the slightest amount of weight on her delicate form, and continued to thrust within her. He finally allowed himself release a few moments later, and rolled onto his back so he would not burden her with his weight.

As they lay together in his narrow, rather old bed, she traced the strong lines of his muscles with gentle fingertips. Even after the long years they had spent together, she could not help but admire the body that was so different from hers.

Almost unwillingly, the sight of Mrs. Banks' nude body rose in her mind, and, for a moment, Mary Poppins longed to run her fingers along the lines of her body, as she often did with Bert. She shook her head to rid herself of the image, which proved quite effective for the time being. After all, she did not love Mrs. Banks. She loved Bert.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

* * *

Ellen, the maid, always took the children to the park on Mary Poppins' days off, and today was no exception. After they departed, Winifred slipped into Mary's room. There was a remarkable lack of personal touches, aside from several pieces of furniture Winifred felt sure were not hers ('But how did she get them in without me noticing?' thought Winifred).

Mary Poppins' rather unassuming carpet bag sat neatly at the foot of the bed, ready to be packed at any time. Seized with an uncharacteristic fit of curiosity, she opened it and found... nothing.

She felt rather a fool when she set the bag back down. What was she expecting to find – love letters? She should have realised that Mary Poppins would be too clever to store such private keepsakes where anyone – especially the children – could find them.

Winifred eyed Mary's bed. Would she dare touch the place where Mary Poppins slept? She shook her head at her silliness. It wasn't as though it was a sacred place, even if it did couch such a remarkable woman in her slumbers. She sat down on Mary's bed, marvelling at how her scent seemed to envelop her. But it wasn't enough. Taking a deep breath, she stretched out on the bed, burying her face against Mary's pillow.

It smelt of cherry blossoms and gingerbread, as well as a fragrance that was uniquely Mary Poppins. As she lay amongst her bed sheets, she sighed deeply, feeling happy for once. She closed her eyes, an image of Mary Poppins undressing coming to the forefront of her mind. As Mary undressed, just as she had in Winifred's dream the night before, Winifred began to unbutton her bodice, then unlace her corset. As she caressed herself, she imagined Mary's hands in place of her own. In her fantasy, Mary's expression was one of pleasure, her face a picture of concentrated bliss.

She moaned as she imagined Mary kissing her, her hands slipping beneath her skirts. As Mary's hands travelled up her legs, Winifred gasped and writhed with impatience. When Mary's slender fingers finally reached where Winifred needed her the most, she felt a wave of bliss surround her – a feeling she had not experienced for years. With a final, shuddering cry of Mary's name, Winifred opened her eyes, removed her hand from its place between her thighs, and smoothed down her skirts, utterly ashamed of herself.

What was she doing? She had to control herself – it wasn't at all proper to lie on the nanny's bed, breathe in her scent with a reverence that only befitted a sacrament, and fantasise! What if someone had interrupted her?

Beginning to panic, lest she be discovered, Winifred quickly re-laced her corset and buttoned her bodice. Cursing the fact that she had no idea how to make a bed, she smoothed the rumpled sheets as best she could, hoping that Mary would not notice. Satisfied with her tidying, she left Mary's room, closing the door softly behind her.

***

As Mary Poppins lay in his bed, sheets tangled around her, she watched as Bert made them breakfast. Stretching languidly, she closed her eyes for a moment, resting her head against his rather ragged pillow.

Unbidden, her mind produced an image of Winifred Banks lying in Mary's bed, unlacing her corset, slipping a hand between her thighs... Mary moaned despite herself, feeling a gush of wetness between her legs.

Bert, who had turned at her moan, was quite surprised to see her staring at him, her eyes dark with desire.

'Mary?' he asked curiously, approaching her.

'Bert...' she practically purred, reaching for him. He obliged, joining her on the bed, encouraging her to sit on his lap. She lowered her hand, beginning to rub his growing erection, as he groaned softly.

'Mary...'

'Bert, I need you,' she whispered quietly, half-embarrassed at her words. She had _never_ said that before, to anyone – but she _did_ need him, needed him now...

He was incredibly surprised, but her words caused a surge of desire to shoot through him. He captured her lips with hers hungrily, taking liberties he had never taken before. As he ran his hands down her sides, she began kissing him passionately, clutching at his back, trying to encourage him to take her.

'Bert, Bert, Bert,' she moaned, lying back against the rumpled bedcovers. 'God, Bert!'

She looked incredibly beautiful to him now, more beautiful than she ever had before. There was something wild about her now, untamed, passionate – and he responded to her in a completely different way.

For once, he was not gentle and restrained; for once she seemed... less than perfect, but more than perfect at the same time. Gone was the delicacy and elegance that typified her, present now was a sensuous, sinuous creature, one of fire and passion and desire.

She cried out his name loudly, something she had never done before. Practically perfect people did not scream... or so she had thought. Apparently, she was wrong.

He pushed into her once more, then climaxed, collapsing on top of her. For once, he did not worry about crushing her, as she wrapped her arms tightly around him, holding him against her.

Suddenly, she pushed him off her.

'What's wrong?' he asked as she leapt out of bed.

'Our breakfast!' she gasped, surveying his kitchen, dismayed.

He laughed.

***

It was late – the sun had set and the moon had risen – but she was still with Bert. As she lay in bed with him, she felt something stir within her breast, felt some peculiar change in her being. She did not yet know what these changes were, only knew they occurred.

As she looked into the face of her sleeping lover, she felt a wave of tenderness wash over her. Perhaps, finally, she had surrendered herself to loving him... but then why did the face of Winifred Banks flash into her mind?

He woke as she began to kiss him – soft, gentle kisses as delicate as a butterfly's wing. He smiled up at her, wrapping strong arms around her slender waist.

'I do love you, Bert,' she said, carding her fingers through his thick, dark hair. Her smile was tender as she looked down at him, her blue eyes shining with a humanity they had never before possessed.

He looked into her eyes and replied, not with words, but with a kiss that said all he was too ineloquent to say. She seemed content with his response and, resting her head against his chest, allowed herself to fall asleep.

As she slept, he pondered the obvious changes in her. What had happened to change her so dramatically? What it permanent, or would she soon revert to her practically perfect, yet almost unapproachable façade? For that was what it must be – a façade. Was this the real Mary Poppins, the one lying in his arms?

***

As Winifred Banks sat at her vanity, brushing her hair, she closed her eyes and remembered her fantasy from earlier in the day. She was still ashamed and embarrassed at her lack of control, still unnerved by the vividness of her dreams about Mary Poppins.

But she could not help herself, try as she might.

Sighing, she turned away from the mirror and joined her husband in bed. He was reading, but set the book aside when she spoke to him.

'George, do you suppose we might...?'

His reading glasses were quickly discarded as he wrapped his arms around her. They hadn't been together for quite some time – ever since John and Barbara were born – and Winifred was relieved that she still felt the same quiet love for her husband that she had always possessed. Sighing in relief, she gave herself up to the moment, allowing her husband to love her and loving him in return.

But afterwards, as she lay in his arms – just as Mary laid in Bert's arms – she imagined Mary's slender form resting beside her instead.

***

Outside the weathervane rotated. The West Wind had come.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

***

A/N: Some of the dialogue in the sixth section is taken from the first Mary Poppins book.

***

As soon as she woke up she felt it – the Wind was tugging at her, beckoning her, tempting her. It was time for her to leave... but she couldn't leave yet.

Bert was sleeping soundly, his dark hair falling into her eyes. She didn't want to leave him again, but she had to. At least he'd understand... but she would miss him. undetermined

***

The door closed quietly behind her and she stepped almost silently up to her room. Someone had been there – some of her things were in disarray – but as she smoothed the bed sheets she once more saw Mrs. Banks lying on top of them, corset unlaced, skirts hitched up... Mary stifled a moan as another bolt of desire shot through her.

She had resolved to leave that night, but found she couldn't. There was something far more tempting than the siren song of the Wind to keep her here – for a little while longer, at least.

***

Winifred Banks slept in her husband's arms, unaware that Mary Poppins was thinking of her.

***

Only seven hours later, the children were awake, dressed, and fed, ready to go to the park. As they hurried to fetch their coats, Mary watched as Mrs. Banks kissed her husband's cheek lightly as she wished him a good day at work. The familiar, loving gesture hit Mary Poppins hard.

'It should not affect you!' she thought, angry at herself. 'She is his wife!'

But it still hurt.

Perhaps it really was time to leave.

***

'Mrs. Banks, I am leaving,' Mary Poppins said. Winifred Banks swayed a bit, clutching the back of her chair to keep her upright.

'But Mary Poppins! Why?' she cried, stricken.

'It's time for me to go,' she replied, and stepped out of the room, her heels clacking as she stepped quickly along the corridor. Mrs. Banks followed her.

'Mary Poppins, please don't go,' she begged, standing just inside the front door as Mary stepped into the Wind. 'Please, Mary Poppins...'

Mary tried to keep her mind focussed on her duty, tried not to look at Mrs. Banks. She stepped into the wind, where she knew she would be safe from temptation.

Despite her longing to remain, she smiled as the Wind gambolled about her, excited to have her back. It whispered to her, filling her with a joy quite unlike the physical pleasure she received from Bert. This was a higher feeling, more mental than physical, and she could not help but smile.

But then there was Mrs. Banks, pleading with her to stay – and Mary wanted to. But the Wind was too persuasive and she could no longer deny its claim on her. Opening her umbrella, she held on tightly as the Wind rushed around her, enveloping her in its embrace. As she began to rise in the air, she took one last, longing look at Mrs. Banks, who stood there with tears in her eyes.

She could hear the children calling to her, their cries breaking her out of her trance. Turning firmly away from Mrs. Banks, she let the Wind carry her up to the clouds. Only when she was at a safe distance did she let a single tear fall down her cheek, glittering there like a diamond.

***

'Mrs. Banks, I am leaving,' Mary Poppins said. Winifred felt her heart skip a beat. The next few minutes were a blur – she knew she tried to convince her to stay, to no avail. Later, the only thing she would remember with any clarity was the sadness in Mary's eyes, but in that moment, she could not process anything. And she could have sworn she saw the West Wind carry her away... no, that was impossible – probably just another hallucination of her grief-addled mind.

She knew she had to tell the children – it was her duty – and so she mounted the stairs to the nursery.

They were not surprised by her announcement – if anything, they took it better than she had – at least Jane did.

'Did she say she'd come back?' Michael demanded loudly over the sound of the twins' cries. 'Tell me – did she?'

Naturally, she had to scold him, and that was what made Mary's disappearance set in, more than anything. If Mary was still here, she would not have to speak sharply to her son, not have to pick up the twins and try to soothe them, not have to listen to Jane's reproving tone.

'I'm ashamed of you – really I am!' she said, her heart breaking, 'to want back anybody who has treated your Mother so badly. I'm utterly shocked.' But Winifred knew she was lying. Mary had never treated her badly – on the contrary. And just because she had left them did not make her a cruel woman... but Winifred so wanted to believe that it did. She couldn't bear thinking otherwise.

She kissed her children absentmindedly before going downstairs to send Mrs. Brill up to see them. She was going out to dinner with her husband in a few hours, and had to get ready – she couldn't tend to her children. Nor did she want to, especially not now.

She sat down at her vanity and pulled a sheet of paper towards her, beginning to write.

'Dear Mary Poppins...'

Only a few lines into her writing, she stopped, tearing it up. How could she write such things? And even if she felt comfortable writing it, how would it ever reach Mary Poppins? Shaking her head at her foolishness, she tossed the scraps of paper into the unlit fireplace.

***

Mary Poppins was perched atop a cloud when the letter reached her. The scraps of paper Winifred had tossed into the fireplace were fused together now, and Mary gently plucked the letter from the air.

'Dear Mary Poppins,' it began, 'I miss you. The children miss you. Will you come back, please? We need you – I need you. I don't know if I can go on without you. Oh, Mary Poppins, please come back!'

Mary folded the letter neatly, placing it securely in her carpetbag. Choking back a sob ('practically perfect people never allow sentiment to muddle their thinking!') she closed her eyes, trying to block out all memories of the Banks family, especially those memories of its matriarch.

She thought of Bert. She had never said goodbye, but she was sure he would soon learn of his departure. And he would understand – he always did. She would miss him on Her Days, but she would survive. He would, too.

***

Bert, who had heard of Mary's departure from the Banks children the day previous, received a letter from her.

'Dearest Bert,

By now you will have heard of my departure from the Banks children. I hope to return soon. If you need me, write. I will miss you.

Mary.'

He smiled despite his sadness at her departure. She really did love him, even if the letter did not explicitly state it.

He sat down to write his own brief missive.

'My darling Mary,

I miss you. Come back soon.

Bert.'

Tearing up the letter, he tossed it into the fireplace, just as Mrs. Banks had done the day previous, and watched as the scraps of the letter floated up to the sky.

***

Two weeks after Mary's departure, she entered the room she inhabited during her stay with them. It was odd to be back here, after her last time in this room, when she had fantasised about Mary. Sitting down on the bed, she inadvertently slipped her hand under the pillow and was startled to find a letter there, and even more surprised to find it addressed to her.

'Mrs. Banks,' it said in Mary's perfect script, 'I am sorry for my abrupt departure, but even I am ruled by the whims of a higher authority.

Au revoir,

Mary Poppins.'

She clutched the letter to her chest. 'Au revoir' – until we meet again. She would be back.


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

* * *

A/N: There won't be any more updates for awhile, as I'm moving. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

* * *

It had been a month – an entire month! – since Mary Poppins had left. The household, which had run so smoothly with her at the helm, was falling apart. George was irritable again, the children ran wild through the streets, and Winifred sunk into a deep depression. Even the food seemed to taste horrible with Mary here – as though she had put a little extra in every meal.

Bert, the Match-Man and sometime chimney sweep, was just as melancholy. Of course, he still went about his everyday business, but she could tell his heart was just not into it. She knew how she feel, but she envied him. He had Mary – she was his, and he was hers – and Winifred was... Winifred was... she didn't know what she was to Mary Poppins. In all honesty, she didn't know what Mary Poppins was to her either.

She wished that Mary was back at Number Seventeen, Cherry Tree Lane. She wished that she had never left. She wished that she had the courage to find her, to write to her...

It seemed that not a day went by without her shedding tears. She couldn't help herself – it seemed as though every little thing reminded her of Mary Poppins, from the birds singing outside to a stick of peppermint. She couldn't sleep without dreaming of Mary Poppins either, and consequently had taken to returning to bed in the middle of the day when she collapsed from sheer exhaustion.

Winifred longed for Mary Poppins, but knew not why. She didn't know what would happen if she did come back, and she didn't know why she wanted Mary Poppins to return. Did she want to kiss Mary Poppins, pull her down on the bed and undress her? She did, but how could she wish such things? Why was she torturing herself with fantasies that could never come to pass?

***

He missed her. They still exchanged letters, of course, but letters were only a shadow of what they had when she was here. He longed for her, on Her Days especially. How he wished that she would come back!

He knew she would return in a moment if he asked her to, but he couldn't lie to her and ask her to come back. He wanted her, and while he did need her in a way, he could survive without her.

But it was difficult knowing that each and every day would pass without him seeing her, without hearing her voice, without feeling the touch of her skin against his.

It was always difficult to go without her during their months of separation, but this time was harder than the others. Perhaps it was because they were older now, more set in their ways, but perhaps it was because for the first time, he really knew she was in love with him. And he knew, as he had always known, that he was in love with her.

***

'Dearest Bert,

Scotland is lovely this time of year, but not as nice as London.

Always,

Mary.'

***

Scotland _was_ lovely, she thought as she strolled through the small village during one of Her Days. It was peaceful, quiet, and beautiful, and while she did enjoy taking care of the two Macallan children, she missed London.

She missed Bert. She loved him and she wished that she could spend Her Days with him. She wished that they could be together, but unfortunately she knew that could never be. She had her duty to the children she took care of, even if she did love him. And she did love him...

Perhaps her next assignment would be in London, near Bert. She hoped it would be. Near Bert... and Mrs. Banks.

No, Mary thought to herself, shaking her head, she would not think of Mrs. Banks again. She thought that she had been able to forget her. After she received Winifred's letter – even though she apparently did not mean to send it – she resolved to put Winifred out of her mind.

But she still thought of her – indeed, with increasing regularity – and dreamt of her. Where once she had dreamt of making love to Bert, she now dreamt of kissing Winifred, tangling her hands in her hair, running her hands along her slender waist... and she would wake up, panting, longing for release, longing for Winifred's hands on her body.

Only the night before she had dreamt of kissing Winifred, undressing her, looking at her nude body hungrily... dreamt of caressing her breasts and even lower, dreamt of Winifred's hair spreading across the pillow like a cloud of gold.

And then she woke up.

The wind began to blow, carrying with it a letter. She took it out of the air, the wind, that obliging courier, gently wrapping around her body, whispering to her. The letter was from Bert.

Suddenly, she could not bear to be in Scotland anymore. She hoped that, soon, the wind would change, sending her back to London.

***

'I miss you, my Mary. I see you everywhere, hear your soft voice every minute of every day, feel your body against mine. Come back to me.

Bert.'

***

It would be five months after that letter arrived before Mary would return to London.

***

Only two months after Mary left, Winifred discovered she was pregnant. She knew that, if Mary was there, she would have known almost immediately. But while Winifred had suspected her condition, she tried to deny it until it became obvious she could not deny it any longer.

The baby had been conceived the night before Mary Poppins left – that was the last time she and her husband had been together. Ever since she left, things had not been the same. There was no longer time, and when there was, they were too tired. And she didn't want to be with him, didn't want to be intimate with him when all she wanted was Mary Poppins.

'We're going to have another child,' Winifred said, six months before the baby was due.

She stood in the doorway of her husband's study, watching as he read over papers from the bank.

'Hmm, all right,' he mumbled, his mind more on his work than on Winifred's statement.

'In six months,' she continued.

'Mmhmm,' he murmured, signing a document with a flourish. 'We really will have to find a new nanny.'

She nodded silently, retreating to their bedroom. Only when the door was closed behind her did she allow herself to cry.

***

'My darling,

Has it really been four months since you were last in my arms? It seems a lifetime. I saw the Banks children today with their new nanny – she's rather incompetent, especially compared to you. Jane told me they will soon have a new sibling. They miss you, Mary. So do I.

Bert.'

***

A baby... they would have another child. Mary let out an anguished cry, all her suppressed feelings from the past few months releasing in a wild, primal scream. She was jealous – jealous for she would never have a child, jealous that Winifred had someone to rely on, jealous that she and Bert would never experience the joy of holding their own baby in their arms.

There had been a baby once – or there had been the hope of one. But that hope, like so many other dreams she once cherished, had died when she turned twenty-one.

They were engaged to be married, only waiting upon her guardian's permission, and then... then it had fallen apart. Yes, she had gained her Magic, and learned of her real family, but at too terrible a price.

She would never have the chance of a family again. That was why she had dedicated her life to improving the families of others. She never expected to be forgotten by those families... and yet it appeared that Winifred had forgotten her.

***

'Dearest Bert,

The Macallan family is still quite in need of my services, but my work should be done soon. I hope that I will then return to London.

Mary.'

***

'My darling,

I hope that you return to London as well.

Bert.'


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

* * *

'My dearest Bert,

I am coming back to London for a few days en route to France.

Mary.'

***

She used more conventional methods of travel to return to London – first a ferry from Skye to the mainland, then a train back to London. When she finally reached his flat, she gave a sigh of relief. It had been a long journey, and she wished she had used Magic to aid her. But she was terrified that, if she did use the Wind as her method of transportation, it would take her directly to her next position, and not allow her to see Bert.

He was waiting for her, answering the door the second she rang the bell.

'Hello, Bert,' she smiled.

'Hello, Mary,' he replied. 'Won't you come in?'

She nodded graciously, stepping into his flat. As soon as he closed the door behind her, she dropped her carpetbag on the floor as he wrapped her in his embrace.

'Mary, Mary, Mary,' he murmured, kissing her. 'Oh, my love, I've missed you so much.'

She returned his kisses with fervour as he backed her against the wall, insinuating one leg between hers. He began to unbutton her bodice, drawing his hands down her sides, as he continued to kiss her. She could feel his rock-hard erection against her abdomen, and, as he pressed himself against her, her knees buckled.

'Do you know what you do to me?' he asked her, his question trailing off to a moan as she pressed a hand against his erection.

'I believe I'm beginning to learn,' she smiled seductively, then grew serious. 'Take me to bed, Bert. We have only a short time together, and I've missed you.'

He nodded, his own expression growing sombre, and carried her to his bed.

***

The room was quiet except for their breathing as Mary lay next to Bert. He was asleep, his chest rising and falling steadily as he breathed. She studied his features carefully, memorising them. For all that Mary Poppins was practically perfect, she was quite a poor artist, and even as she wished that she could capture this moment forever, she knew only her imperfect memory would serve her in the long months to come.

She wanted to stay with him in this moment forever – this moment when she was perfectly happy, this moment when her heart belonged fully to the man lying beside her... but she knew it could never be. She had her work, and she did love it, even if it took her away from him so often.

Gently, she reached out to touch his hair, three days' worth of stubble scratching her palm. He'd always been clean-shaven before, but she rather liked his growing beard.

As she kissed him, he woke up, and she pulled back, smiling.

'Hello.'

'Hello,' she replied.

'The Banks children miss you, you know,' he said quietly, and, she felt, oddly – the Banks children were not who she thought of after making love to Bert. Winifred, perhaps... she pushed that thought away.

She nodded. 'I suspected as much.'

'Don't you miss them, Mary?'

'Where would I be if I missed each child I looked after? Miserable,' she stated firmly.

He nuzzled her neck. 'Do you ever miss me?'

'Practically perfect people never permit sentiment to muddle their thinking,' she said, though she belied her statement with a kiss.

'Did you miss me?' he asked her again, kissing her. 'Did you?'

She giggled uncharacteristically as three days' worth of stubble gently scratched her collarbone. 'Bert!'

'Did you?' he pressed. 'Did you, Mary?'

His hands travelled lower, stroking her thighs, gently parting them. As he pressed his erection against her, she moaned.

'Please, Bert! Oh, please, please!'

'Did you miss me?'

'Yes,' she gave in to his demands of a response. 'Oh, yes.'

He grinned, entering her with one hard thrust. She moaned, clutching at his back, sighing as he moved within her.

'My Mary,' he groaned possessively as she clenched around him. 'My Mary...'

She could not speak as she climaxed, allowing only one single moan to escape her rosy-red lips. His lips worked insistently at hers, attempting to drain them of their sweetness – a task he performed with pleasure, though it would never be completed.

She arched beneath him again, her head dropping back as she cried out. He groaned as he pushed into her once more, collapsing on top of her.

They lay on the bed, limbs entwined, her head couched snugly against his chest.

'I adore you,' she whispered. 'And I shall miss you when I leave.'

He sighed sadly. 'Don't let's talk about that now,' he said. 'Never talk about that here.'

She kissed him softly, sadly, then rolled out of bed. As she dressed silently, he watched her creamy skin disappear beneath her clothes. When she finished, she turned to him, resting her hand on his cheek.

'I love you, darling.'

She turned away, and he thought that he saw a tear glistening on her cheek. He was proved correct when, a few moments later, a gloved hand wiped the tear away.

'You will write?' he asked her.

'Of course,' she replied. 'Goodbye, Bert.'

'Goodbye, Mary.'

And once more he watched as the love of his life walked away from him.

***

She flew to France – the clouds were low, and the wind was strong – perfect travelling weather. As she passed over Cherry Tree Lane, she felt a tug at her heart as she looked upon Number Seventeen. She could swear that she could see the children stepping out the front door. But more so than the children – she could see Winifred, and, for a moment, she began to descend from the clouds.

No. She could not return – it was not the right time. By the sheer force of her willpower, she ascended again and continued her journey to France.

Little did she know that Winifred Banks had chanced to look up just as Mary Poppins had begun to descend.

'Mary Poppins,' she breathed, her eyes locked on the slender figure with the umbrella. For a moment, she thought Mary Poppins was returning, but as the figure ascended to the clouds once more, she felt her heart break.


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

* * *

France, more than any other country, reminded Mary of Winifred. Around every corner she thought she spied her flaxen hair, in every _boulangerie_ there was a woman whose figure was shaped like hers, on every street she thought she heard her lilting voice. But it was not so, and Mary hated her mind for inventing such temptations.

The four children she cared for were rambunctious, playing pranks on her just because she was English. She sighed and bore her burden with quite a lack of enthusiasm – her heart was not in this particular assignment. Nor did it seem her heart was in this job – she missed Bert more than ever before, and thoughts of Winifred preyed on her mind constantly.

She dreamt alternately of Winifred and Bert, one night dreaming of resting her hands on Winifred's corseted waist, her flaxen hair and Mary's own dark hair mingling as they kissed. The next night she would dream of Bert pressing her against the wall, his erection firm against her abdomen.

Each morning she would wake longing for them, feeling incomplete, unsatisfied, desperate. She felt herself slipping away from the practically perfect woman she once was, and she was terrified. What would she have if she lost who she was? Yes, she would have Bert, but she knew she could never settle down with him, not after what had happened between them those many years ago. Would she always long for what she could not have?

She just wanted to be happy – was that too much to ask?

***

It had been six years since she had gained her Magic, six years since she had renounced any future happiness to learn of her family. Never more than now did she regret her decision those many years ago – never more than now did she wish she had married Bert, had his children – even if it meant she would not have her Magic.

She knew she would never be happy, but it had not bothered her before now. Of course she missed Bert when she was away from him, but they had both managed. It was only now, after she had given her heart to him again, that she felt so desperate. And after she met Winifred Banks...

Perhaps this was her punishment – perhaps longing for Winifred Banks and longing for Bert were what she deserved for sentencing both her and Bert to everlasting unhappiness, for all that they enjoyed a few brief moments of joy together.

It was her fault they were unhappy – it was always her fault, always would be her fault. If only she had chosen the other path those many years ago...

***

He lay on his bed, dreaming of what might have been if only she had chosen him over learning about her family those many years ago. She had the choice, and he had stepped back, allowed her to make it freely – indeed, supported her in her final decision. How he regretted that now...

He knew they would never be happy. He knew they would never marry, never settle down, never raise a family. And he knew that he would never be happy doing those things with anyone else – Mary was who he loved, who he always would love... even if that love resigned them to unhappiness.

Once upon a time, they had been engaged, had been happy... had expected to marry within the month, move to the country, and live happily-ever-after. They expected to be blessed with children, expected to one day live in a small cottage, children and grandchildren surrounding them in their old age. But now they would never grow old, never have children...

Yes, there were compensations. They would never have to worry about sickness, never have to worry about dying before they wished. They could have an eternity of a few stolen hours together – which was more time than most people had together.

But how he wished they could be together for more than a few stolen hours once a month! For even an eternity of those few hours was not enough for him...

***

Four more months... four more months until she would finally give birth. She was exhausted, sick of being pregnant, and unhappy.

She had been unhappy since Mary Poppins had left, though her husband naturally had not noticed. He hadn't noticed anything – and while she believed he was changing when Mary was still there, he reverted to his old self.

Winifred felt desperate – desperate for love, desperate to live... she wanted to have a life outside of the roles of mother and wife – and she wanted Mary Poppins. Oh, how she wanted Mary Poppins!

She thought she had rid herself of her longing for Mary... but then she saw her – or believed she saw her – descending from the clouds – and all her old feelings came rushing back. That night she dreamed of Mary for the first time in such a long time... dreamt that they were kissing, Winifred's arms wrapped around Mary's slender, corseted waist, Mary's dark hair cascading down her back. They were passionate kisses, desperate kisses, and they felt so real... but then she woke up, gasping, and knew they were only a hallucination of her traitorous mind. If only Mary was here!

***

Dark, dark hair fell around her as hands unlaced her corset. Golden locks spread across the pillow as those slender hands crept up her thighs, a slim body settling itself between her legs. Those hands pulled away layers of fabric hungrily, greedily, until finally it was gone. And then her mouth took the place of her hands and she moaned desperately, a wide chasm of longing opening within her.

A strangled cry burst from her lips, her hands clenching the bedclothes tightly. It was the most exquisite torture she had ever experienced, and she never wanted it to stop. And then... then she felt an explosion within her, desire and passion overwhelming her. Nothing could be more sublime, nothing could ever exceed that moment.

And then Winifred Banks woke up.

Her husband was gone, the sun streamed through the windows, and no one was there. Beginning to cry softly, she climbed out of bed with difficulty and made her way to the washroom to freshen up.

This was getting out of hand, she thought as she splashed water on her face. She couldn't take it anymore. She didn't want to take it anymore.

Mary Poppins' letter had said 'au revoir', and while that did mean they would meet again, how long would she have to wait for her? She needed Mary Poppins, she wanted her... but would she ever return?


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

***

Some of the dialogue in the second section is taken from the book _Mary Poppins Comes Back_.

***

It was time – finally, it was time. The wind had changed, and it pulled at her.

'Where will you take me?' she whispered, afraid it would once more take her away from where she so longed to return.

'London,' it told her, and with a burst of happiness, she allowed the wind to take her away from France.

Though it was a rough Channel crossing – even in the air – she rejoiced in every gust of wind, every slight discomfort – for she was heading home, at long, long last – home to London, home to Bert, home to Winifred...

Finally the streets of London were in sight, and then the Park. She could see the Banks children on the ground, Michael trying but failing to fly his new kite. As it stuck in the tree, she watched with interest as the Park Keeper approached them, then watched as he took the kite from the tree. As he threw it into the air, Mary knew what she would do. Asking the wind if it would oblige her, it agreed, bringing the kite closer to her. As she grabbed onto the end of it, she began her descent to rejoin the Banks family once more.

When she was once more upon London soil, she was appalled at the Banks' children's behaviour – they were wild, rambunctious – hardly better than those French children she most recently looked after! Taking charge immediately, she bundled the Twins into the perambulator, and took Jane and Michael firmly by the hand.

'It's time for Tea,' she said, escorting them from the Park. As she left, she cast a glance over her shoulder at Bert. He smiled at her, and she allowed a brief smile in return.

***

Winifred Banks sat on the stairs, sobbing. Everything had gone wrong since Mary Poppins left – absolutely everything. Her husband was frustrated, seriously considering not returning home; the children were going wild; the servants were lazy... everything that could go wrong had gone wrong.

She despaired of ever seeing Mary again – perhaps her letter had been merely a ruse, a ploy to fool Winifred. She let out a sob as she once more thought of the coming baby, wondering how she would ever manage a new child in addition to the four she already had. Oh, how could she ever survive without Mary Poppins.

The door opened, and Winifred lifted her head to tell the children to go up to the nursery for their Tea. And then she saw Mary Poppins.

Immediately, she thought she was hallucinating, her mind producing a vision of what she wanted most in the world – but her heart knew it was Mary.

'Why, it's Mary Poppins!' she exclaimed, 'Where did _you_ come from? Out of the blue?'

'Yes,' her son began, 'she came down on the end –' he stopped as Mary glared at him; Winifred suppressed a bubble of laughter as her son quailed from Mary Poppins' stern gaze.

'I found them in the Park, ma'am,' Mary said, speaking at last, her voice the sweetest music Winifred had ever heard, 'so I brought them home!'

'Have you come to stay, then?' Winifred asked hopefully.

'For the present, ma'am,' Mary replied.

'But, Mary Poppins, last time you were here you left me without a Word of Warning. How do I know you won't do it again?'

'You don't, ma'am,' Mary replied calmly, though her eyes were sad.

'But – but will you, do you think?' Winifred asked, worried.

'I couldn't say, ma'am, I'm sure.'

'Oh!' Winifred exclaimed, unable to think of anything else to say.

As she pondered Mary's words, Mary Poppins brought the children upstairs, closing the door behind them.

Winifred ran to the telephone – she had to share the wonderful news with someone. She dialled the familiar number of her husband's office.

'Mary Poppins has come back!' she told him.

'Has she, indeed?' her husband replied. 'Then perhaps I will, too.' He rang off.

She hugged herself in her glee, relieved and ecstatic that Mary had returned and kept her promise.

***

She was back, and Bert was thrilled. Finally, after five months of separation, she had returned to London, returned to the Banks family, and returned to him. In only a week it would be Her Day, and he could finally hold her, kiss her, love her once again.

Outside his flat, the birds were singing, even though it was evening. Even they knew of Mary's return.

He left the windows open that night, listening as the birds continued to sing.

***

The days passed smoothly now that Mary Poppins had returned. Mr. Banks' shaving water was the perfect temperature, the breakfast arrived on time, the children were well-behaved, and even Robertson Ay did his work. It was amazing the change that one woman could have on a household.

Winifred had not yet had the opportunity to see Mary alone – which was Mary's doing. She couldn't yet allow herself to be alone with Winifred – she was afraid of what she might do. Not yet... not until after she saw Bert.

She did not have to wait long – Her Day arrived only a week after she returned. Only one minute after midnight on Her Day, she crept out of the house into Bert's waiting arms.

'Cor, I've missed you, love,' he whispered, not even waiting to exit the soft golden glow of the streetlight before kissing her.

She wrapped her arms around him, returning the kiss eagerly. When they finally broke apart, she smiled up at him.

'I'm glad you're back, Mary,' he whispered, unable to resist giving her another kiss.

She smiled. 'I'm glad, too,' she replied. 'Let's go, hmm?'

He nodded, slipping a possessive hand around her waist as they strolled through the streets.

***

They barely made it into his flat before Mary began kissing him, overwhelmed with an unfamiliar, desperate passion. She wanted him, wanted him more than she ever had before, and as she pushed his shirt off his shoulders, she wished only to be in his arms, in his bed, and have him inside her.

He obliged her wants, though she did not ask for them, unlacing her corset with eager, nimble fingers, watching lustily as she discarded her skirts. She was not wearing any knickers, and when he discovered this, he moaned, picking her up and carrying her to his bed.

When he dropped her on the bed, she immediately pulled him down on top of her. Wrapping her legs around his hips, she met his lips in a passionate kiss, running her hands down his chest. She wanted him, and it was quite clear to her that he wanted her as well.

'Now, Bert, please,' she moaned, urging him closer.

He shook his head. 'Just a moment, love,' he whispered, looking at her with undisguised adoration. A few minutes later, he kissed her softly, entering her as they continued to kiss. Though she needed him desperately, he was slow in his thrusts, drawing out their lovemaking as long as he could bear it.

Finally, she cried out his name, filled with a joy that had been unfortunately absent during those long months apart. He smiled down at her, prolonging her pleasure before he joined her.

As they lay together in the bed, just as the first rays of dawn slipped in through the window, she clung to him tightly.

'Did you miss me, Bert?' she asked him, still embracing him.

'Of course I did, Mary!' he exclaimed, 'you know that.'

'What did you miss about me?'

He thought for a minute before responding. 'I missed holding you,' he whispered, nuzzling her neck. 'I missed kissing you, touching you, making love to you... I missed everything about you. Did you miss me?'

She smiled. 'I did,' she replied, moving closer to him. 'I missed you more than even I can say.'

He smiled down at her – how different was she from the woman she had become those many years ago, after gaining her magic! She had become almost... inhuman, completely emotionless, cold... so unlike the Mary he had fallen in love with. But now – now she was the woman he'd fallen in love with, those many years ago... she was back to her old self.

'You're smiling,' he whispered, stroking her cheek softly.

'Am I?' she asked, climbing out of the bed, dashing to the bathroom to look in the mirror. She stared at her reflection in wonder, amazed at how happy, how relaxed she looked. Bert came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her.

'I love you, Mary,' he said, kissing her neck.

She turned to him, still smiling. 'And I love you.'


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

***

The first section of this chapter is heavily inspired by ladyvivien's fic Imperfect.

***

She left Bert at fifteen minutes to eleven, reluctantly walking back to the Banks' house. While she wanted to linger in the nighttime air, wanted to listen to the Stars talk to her, she knew she must return. And so she stepped silently into the house, closing the door behind her.

There was a light on in the kitchen, and, curious, she stepped into the room. Winifred was sitting at the table, a glass of milk cradled in her hands. As the door swung shut behind Mary, Winifred looked up and saw her.

'Hello, Mary Poppins,' Mrs. Banks said, partly ashamed to have caught her out after Her Day, and partly glad that she had, indeed, stayed up to wait for her return.

'Hello, Mrs. Banks,' she replied, taking a chair next to Winifred.

'Did you have a nice day?' Winifred asked, a hint of jealousy in her tone.

Mary blushed, the first time such a human act had occurred in Winifred's presence. She was amazed, especially as Mary could not bring herself to look at her. Winifred's hair cascaded down her shoulders, glowing golden in the soft candlelight. It was just like her dream the night before.

Mary looked into Winifred's eyes, seeing a deep longing within them – a longing which matched her own a few hours earlier. Her gaze dropped once more, resting on Winifred's burgeoning stomach, and she felt a wave of hurt and longing wash over her.

Winifred noticed where her gaze fell, shifting uncomfortably at the look in Mary's eyes.

'Good night, Mrs. Banks,' Mary said, standing up abruptly.

'But – Mary Poppins –' Winifred stuttered, reaching for her hand. As their hands touched, Mary froze.

For a moment, Winifred believed she had offended her, but as Mary gently disengaged her hand, she leaned over and kissed her cheek, resting her hand on her shoulder.

'Good night, Mrs. Banks,' Mary whispered, and climbed the stairs to the nursery.

Winifred sat at the kitchen table for several moments more, hand resting on her cheek. It was the first time Mary had kissed her, and she hoped it would not be the last.

***

Mary Poppins lay in the narrow camp cot in the nursery, utterly ashamed of herself. She thought that being with Bert would cure her of her foolish longing for Winifred Banks, but apparently not. How could she still feel this way?

But she did feel that way, and as she drifted back to sleep, she dreamt of kissing Winifred again, and again, and again.

***

Bert lay in bed, Mary's scent still around him. He had missed her desperately, these past years, and now she was back. Oh, yes, she had been Mary Poppins, but not _his_ Mary. She was his Mary again now, and he was so grateful to have her back.

Maybe she was coming around – maybe one day soon she would agree to give up her work, her Magic, to be with him. Hopefully soon... Oh, he could only hope that she would change her mind... but he doubted it. Not when it meant giving up her memories as well...

***

They had made love for the first time on what would have, should have been their wedding night, consummating the marriage that would never occur. If they were ever to marry now, they would have to start aging again, give up their memories, and lose her Magic. It was their curse.

So many years ago, upon their engagement, she discovered she had Magic. It was a life-altering discovery, and, for some time, they believed that everything would be all right, if a bit better for them. And then they came, changing their world forever.

She was given the choice between learning of her family, gaining her Magic, and achieving life eternal, or marrying Bert. She had a week to decide, and chose the first option.

Bert had supported her in her decision, though he wished she had chosen to marry him. But he knew better than anyone Mary's desire to know her family, and while he tried to convince her they could make their own family. But no... she had to know.

And so began the curse.

***

At times, Mary did not know why she had chosen Magic, knowledge of her family, and eternal life over marrying Bert. And oh, she regretted her decision now more than ever! She had become so cold after the ramifications of her decision hit her, and only now, years later, was she finally coming alive again. But with her new vitality came a sickening feeling that she had chosen the wrong path.

Where would she be now, if she were married to Bert? Would they be living in the little cottage in the country as they had planned? Would they have children? Would they be happy? Or would she ever long to know about her family, always feel that something was missing?

Even she did not know.

***

Lying in bed, Winifred pondered Mary's actions. Did her kiss mean she felt the same way? She still felt it burning upon her cheek, warming her in a way her husband's kisses never did.

She wanted another kiss from Mary – she wanted to embrace her, run her hands through her silky locks, meet her soft lips with her own... oh, one day, one day, perhaps, it would happen – her fantasies would be realised, and she would be happy.

But could it happen? She doubted it. After all, Mary Poppins loved Bert. And Winifred loved her husband... didn't she? She didn't know anymore. Not anymore, not when she could still feel Mary's kiss upon her cheek, not when she dreamed of undressing Mary, tumbling onto the bed with her in a mass of tangled limbs and dark and golden hair mingling...

No, she did not know if she loved her husband anymore, though for a brief moment, she wished she did. Then things would be so much simpler...


	9. Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

***

This is the last chapter for awhile – I'm going to be in NYC, and naturally will be too busy to post. Enjoy!

***

She knew how Eve felt, the Serpent displaying what she could not, should not, want. And, God help her, she was tempted – tempted by the Fruit she could never taste.

But would she Fall if she did taste the Fruit? What would happen if she did kiss Winifred? She wanted to kiss her; she knew that Winifred wanted to kiss her back. Surely nothing bad could happen...

Yes, she loved Bert, loved him with all her heart, but she couldn't help what she felt for Winifred.

What did she feel for Winifred? Certainly she felt affection, and a surprisingly strong attachment to her. And lust... she wanted to roll around with Winifred on her bed, kissing hungrily, hands groping, bodies writhing... how could she want such things? How could she desire someone so strongly?

She moaned, frustrated, burying her face in her pillow. She couldn't want Winifred, and she wouldn't let herself get close to her again.

***

Despite Mary's resolution to stay away from Winifred, she couldn't help coming close to her again. Only a week later, Mary once more found herself in the kitchen in the middle of the night, Winifred with her.

This time Mary couldn't stop herself from reaching out to her, couldn't stop her hand from cupping her cheek, caressing her soft skin. Winifred held her wrist tightly, preventing her hand from leaving, and stood, stepping closer to Mary.

'Mary,' Winifred breathed, resting her free hand on Mary's slender waist. For a moment, Winifred felt a surge of envy as she regarded Mary's slim figure, so different from her own – the body swollen with pregnancy. Little did she know that Mary longed to switch places with her, longed to carry her own child. But for once, Mary's mind was not cluttered with thoughts, but was occupied solely with the sensations Winifred's hands were creating.

Mary closed her eyes, breathing deeply as Winifred's hand moved upwards, finally resting just below her breast. Winifred gasped as Mary stepped closer. They were barely an inch apart when Winifred closed her eyes, her lips seeking Mary's, when the grandfather clock struck twelve.

They jumped apart, like started does, breathing heavily. Mary's eyes were wide, scared, as though she could not believe what had happened. Winifred looked regretful, desperate, as though she wished Mary had kissed her.

'We can't do this,' Mary said, her voice fragile, trembling. 'It's not proper.'

'I don't care!' Winifred cried savagely. She checked herself, then continued. 'I don't care. I want this to happen, Mary – I've wanted this for a long time.'

Mary looked away for a moment, then back at Winifred. 'It's not right – I can't do this. You're married, you're expecting a child, and I... well, I have Bert.'

Winifred's eyes flashed with jealousy. 'That's not fair,' she whispered, pouting childishly. 'I want this.'

Mary looked at her, eyes sad. 'We can't do this.'

With a brief, tender kiss to Winifred's forehead, Mary left, gliding up the stairs. She could not sleep, her mind tortured with images of her and Winifred together. She needed to see Bert, needed to talk to him about this, needed to leave London again. She couldn't stay in this house anymore – not after this.

'Running away, Mary Poppins?' her umbrella spoke.

She turned to it angrily. 'I most certainly am not!' she snapped.

'Oh, really? It certainly looks like it!'

'Be quiet,' she said angrily, 'you don't know anything!'

'I know you, Mary Poppins,' the parrot said, 'and I know that you're scared.'

She sank onto the bed, head in her hands. 'I have to leave,' she said, her voice muffled, 'I'm not sure what will happen if I stay.'

'Do I really have to remind you of the Agreement?' he asked her. If she didn't know better, she would have sworn his voice held a note of sympathy.

'No, you do not,' Mary said crisply. 'I know my duties, but...' her voice trembled, 'but this wasn't part of the Agreement.'

'I know,' he said. 'But you have to take the good with the bad, don't you?'

She nodded and sank back down onto the bed. 'Yes, you do,' she whispered, 'yes, you do.'

***

'Dearest, darling, wonderful Bert,

Whatever happens, I love you. I love you more than anyone – anything – else in the world.

Mary.'

***

'Dearest Mary,

What's wrong, my love?

Bert.'

***

'Dear Bert,

I can't talk about it now. I don't know what's wrong. I... I just don't know what I'm going to do.

Mary.'

***

'Dearest Mary,

I'm here if you need me.

Bert.'

***

Winifred's dreams burned with thoughts and fantasies of Mary Poppins, undressing her, kissing her, loving her... it was worse now, worse after they had shared that brief, desperate encounter. Her fantasies had a new taste of the forbidden in them, the forbidden and the familiar.

She so wanted to be with Mary, at least once, and couldn't help but think that if she wasn't married, wasn't a mother, they would have kissed that night.

What would Mary's kiss have been like? Would it have been tentative, gentle, or would Winifred have burned with dark passion when Mary's lips met hers? Would she ever know now, or would Mary avoid her? After all, Mary was afraid – at least her eyes had shown her fear. Was it fear or Winifred, or fear of her own feelings that had made Mary shy away?

***

What had happened to her? Why did she feel so lost, so lonely? For the first time since she was cursed, she was her old self. For the first time she could give her heart freely to Bert, freely and without reservations. So what had happened? How could she feel like there was a hollow in her heart that nothing could fill?

She knew that Winifred could help her, knew that Winifred would willingly accept her affections. But it wasn't right, wasn't proper, and Mary Poppins was practically perfect. She couldn't allow even the slightest indiscretion to smudge her reputation.

But she wanted to. Perhaps, perhaps if her behaviour was not above reproach, she would be freed from the curse. But would Bert be freed as well? And did she want to be freed? If she was free, then she could have the happy-ever-after ending they had always longed for. But did she want that anymore? If the curse was lifted, then she would most likely never see Winifred again...

***

It was two months later when they finally gave into their desires.


	10. Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

She was now seven months pregnant, her body swollen, unappealing. The heat of the summer weighed down upon her, even though it was only June. She spent much of her time in her bedroom, feeling entirely unfit to be seen in public.

In truth, she didn't want to leave the room. Ever since nearly kissing Mary two months ago, she had sunk into a deep despondency. She knew that she should carry on just as she'd always done, but she could not. As every day passed, she wanted Mary, and never more than on Her Days, when Ellen was left to take care of her children while Mary cavorted with Bert.

In her irritation, she pulled the bell cord, wanting nothing more than a cup of camomile tea to settle her nerves. When the door opened, however, it was not Ellen – it was Mary.

'Yes, Mrs. Banks?' she said, 'may I get you anything?'

'Yes, some camomile tea,' she ordered imperiously, still smarting over Mary's rejection, though it was two months ago.

Mary returned a few minutes later, a brimming cut of hot tea in her hands. She set it down on the bedside table, then turned back to Winifred.

'Will there be anything else?'

She nodded, clasping Mary's wrist. 'Sit with me, Mary,' she half-begged her. Despite herself, Mary agreed, settling herself neatly next to Winifred.

While Mary stared straight ahead, Winifred looked at her, taking in her perfect skin, Dutch-doll nose, bright blue eyes, rosy cheeks, dark hair... she was perfect, and Winifred could not resist reaching out to her, just to see if she was real.

Her hand was warm, bold, as it slid up Mary's knee, its progress unhindered by Mary, who was too stunned to move. When she finally did look at Winifred, her eyes were dark – but not with anger, as Winifred feared, but arousal. Almost imperceptibly, Mary let out a sigh, allowing her legs to fall open and Winifred's hand to creep even further beneath Mary's petticoats.

'Mary,' Winifred whispered, her voice begging, pleading. 'Kiss me.'

She recoiled as though she was repulsed, though she was far from it. She had never expected Winifred to make any sort of overture, never expected anything like that statement to fall from her lips.

Winifred, desperate to take what she could from the woman sitting on her bed, leaned forward and kissed her. It was tentative, exploratory at first, quickly growing in passion as Mary's mouth opened involuntarily.

She was passionate, desperate for human contact, her hands pulling the pins that held up Mary's hair. As a dark wave of silk cascaded down around them, Winifred moaned, one hand tangling itself in her hair, the other resting on Mary's slender waist. Mary pulled back a few moments later, gasping for air.

To Winifred, Mary would never look more beautiful than she did in that moment, her eyes dark and sparkling, though surprised; cheeks flushed; lips rosy red; hair down around her.

'Winifred!' Mary cried, astonished, trying to regain some of her natural authority. However, her attempt at sternness was belied by her use of Winifred's first name.

'Mary,' she murmured in response, kissing her again.

Neither of them had ever expected Winifred to take charge, but truth was always stranger than fiction. As Mary lay back against the many pillows, a willing prisoner of Winifred's, she moaned softly as she was kissed and caressed.

'Oh, God!' the expression of reverence, so unfamiliar on Mary's tongue, slipped out as Winifred's hands released the stays of her corset, insinuating her hands between Mary's chemise and her bodice. As Winifred greedily tore away at the tissue-thin fabric of Mary's chemise, Mary finally took some initiative. Reaching up, she cupped Winifred's breasts, unrestrained by anything but a thin chemise and a nightgown, feeling the heavy globes settle in her hands. With a slight cry, Winifred closed her eyes, giving herself up to Mary's caresses.

Their lips met again as Mary sat up, still caressing Winifred's breasts, her kisses growing in passion as Winifred moaned.

The moan seemed to bring Mary back to herself, and, pulling back, she looked at the woman she had so long desired.

'Don't stop!' Winifred begged, 'please don't stop.'

Mary looked away for a moment. 'I apologise for taking such familiarities with you. Naturally, it will never happen again.'

'But I want it to!' Winifred cried, then checked herself. 'I want it to,' she whispered.

Mary looked at her, seeing the truth in her eyes, but shook her head. 'It can't – it's not the right time.'

'Well, when is the right time?' Winifred demanded, frustrated.

Mary stood up from the bed, re-lacing her corset, her back to Winifred. For a moment, she did not believe Mary had heard her, but then Mary turned around.

'When the stars sing,' she replied cryptically, before taking her leave.

Winifred, too shocked at Mary's sudden departure to cry, sat there pondering her words. What had she meant by 'when the stars sing'? Stars didn't sing! But, in time, Winifred would learn that the stars _did_ sing.

***

The next day was one of Her Days, but Mary did not know if she could be with Bert – not without telling him what had passed between her and Winifred. But, when she joined him a minute after midnight, as was their custom, she found that the words would not come.

'I love you,' she whispered softly, cupping his cheek, before kissing him.

He looked down at her, a bit perplexed. While she certainly was passionate, she was rarely ever demonstrative in public. Tonight was different – tonight she had not bothered to restrain herself even in the street, holding him close to her as they kissed. She had even taken his hand and brought it to her breast, encouraging him to caress her.

He certainly wasn't averse to her affections, but it was odd. He knew there was no point in asking her – as he'd heard her say so many times before, she never explained anything. Explanations took too many words, and were often misconstrued anyway. She didn't want to expend effort on something that would most likely be taken wrongly.

She pulled back from him slightly, resting her chin on his shoulder.

'Take me back to your flat, Bert,' she whispered, 'I want you to take to me – I want you to slip your hands beneath my skirts, hike up my petticoats, pull down my knickers and fuck me hard against the wall... I want to be yours, Bert, only yours... please, Bert, take me hard...'

He moaned lowly, feeling his erection swell as she spoke. She placed a bold hand on his cock, her fingers massaging, exploring, beneath the soft light of the streetlamp. As her hands grew bolder, straying to his belt buckle, he seized her hands in his and wrenched them away, resting his forehead against hers.

'Not here,' he whispered, his breaths heavy and uneven. 'Not here...'

Swiftly they walked to his flat, not daring to touch, afraid that if they did they would not be able to stop. Like the past few Second Tuesdays, as soon as they entered his flat she closed the door and threw her arms around him.

'I love you,' she whispered, her voice holding a desperate undertone that confused him. 'Tell me you love me too...'

'I love you, Mary,' he replied dutifully, though not lacking feeling, 'I love you so much.'

She beamed up at him before taking his hands in hers once more, bringing them to her waist. 'How much do you love me?'

Now he knew there was something wrong, and, knowing it was futile to ask, gave her the response she so needed. 'I love you more than the earth, the moon, the stars – more than life itself.'

'Do you... do you regret staying with me? Do you regret not having a normal life?'

So that was what this is about, he thought. 'No, Mary. I wanted a normal life with you – only you – and if we can't have that, I'll take whatever we can have.'

'Oh, Bert,' she sighed, smiling sadly. 'Oh, Bert, I love you.'

He smiled at her, nuzzling her neck, as she twined her arms around his neck.

'Take me here, now,' she begged him, 'please do it now – now, here, against the wall...'

He groaned as she eagerly unbuckled his belt, then unzipped his trousers. 'Mary!' he cried out as she freed his erection. 'Oh, Mary...'

She took his hands, guiding them beneath her skirts. 'Please, Bert,' she whispered, her hands still covering his, 'please, please...'

He captured her lips with his, slipping his hands further beneath her dress. As his hands divested her of her petticoats, just as she had asked for earlier, she moaned, clutching at his back.

'Now, now,' she moaned as his fingers slipped into her knickers. 'Bert! Now, Bert, please!'

He couldn't resist her any longer, could no longer go slowly. Yanking off her knickers so violently they tore in half, he bunched her skirts around her waist. As she guided his erection into her, she let out a moan of desire. She wrapped one leg around his waist, her hips moving in counterpoint with his, as he brought her closer and closer to orgasm.

Soon she was clutching at his back, crying out his name as though each cry was a triumph of the first magnitude, wrapping her limbs around him as though he would leave her if she relaxed her embrace for even the slightest moment.

When they both collapsed on the floor of his flat, sweaty, sated, and exhausted, Mary continued to hold him, pillowing her head against his chest, clutching him with a desperate savagery. In contrast, he held her gently, soothingly stroking her hair as she sobbed.

'Never leave me,' she begged him.

It was more the words she said, and her tone as she said them, that made him agree immediately. Mary Poppins did not beg – she never begged – and the fact that she was begging him now meant that something was desperately wrong.

'I promise,' he whispered, and, as she turned a radiant, tear-stained face up to his for a kiss, he knew he had done the right thing.


	11. Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

***

The dialogue between Mr. and Mrs. Banks is taken from the book _Mary Poppins Comes Back_.

***

August was hot, hotter even then June, and London suffered. The streets seemed to melt with the ever-constant heat of the sun, and even the Banks children did not want to go outside. Throughout it all, Mary tried desperately to forget the promise she made to Winifred, deny that she had feelings for anyone but Bert, and come to terms with her actions two months previously. It was difficult, more difficult than she could say, and for once, Mary Poppins failed.

Winifred continued to sulk in her room, pouting that Mary refused to come near her, refused to exchange anything but the politest – and coldest – greetings. And this, taken with what Mary had said that night, convinced Winifred that Mary was not interested in her, would not make good on her promise.

But she wanted her to. The longer she went without Mary, the more she wanted her – not just in the obvious ways, but to talk to, to listen to... all the ways she had never wanted George. She wanted to be Mary's friend. She wanted to have Mary all to herself. She was selfish in regards to Mary Poppins, and honestly she did not care.

It was all throughout the summer she thought these things, all throughout the summer that she longed for Mary, wanted Mary, yearned for Mary... and in the midst of this period of intense dissatisfaction, Annabel Banks was born.

***

A breeze swept through Number Seventeen, Cherry Tree Lane, bringing with it a sense of emptiness, a sense of waiting. Mary Poppins, who seemed to know all things before they occurred, telephoned the doctor early in the morning. After getting the children up, dressed, and fed, she handed them over to Ellen, telling her to take them to the Park. Ellen meekly obeyed, ushering the protesting Banks children out of the house.

Just as they left, Winifred felt the first sharp labour pains and cried out for Mary Poppins. She entered Mrs. Banks' bedroom a few moments later, looking cool, unruffled, and calm.

'The doctor is on his way, Mrs. Banks,' she said, walking to the windows to close the drapes. 'Everything will be fine.'

Despite Winifred's intense discomfort, she stared at Mary, mouth open.

'How... how do you KNOW?' she exclaimed as another pain struck her.

Mary didn't answer, busying herself with getting hot water, towels, and blankets.

'Everything will be fine, Mrs. Banks,' she repeated, looking the figure of authority in her starched white apron. She sat down in the ladderback chair she pushed close to the bed, extending her hand to allow Winifred to grasp it tightly.

'Mary, I'm scared,' she whispered, her voice shaking. 'I'm truly scared.'

Mary joined Winifred on the bed, stroking her hair softly, whispering words of assurance to her. This was a Mary Poppins completely different from the one who had ignored her all these months – this was the Mary who had allowed Winifred to kiss her, touch her... she moaned, and Mary, concerned, asked what was the matter.

'Nothing,' Winifred replied, turning her head from Mary. She muffled a sob against the pillows.

This time, Mary had no time to cajole Winifred's real heartache out of her, though she knew full well what it was. As another, stronger pain hit her, the doorbell rang, signalling the arrival of the doctor. They heard Mrs. Brill get the door, and as Winifred collapsed, weary, against the bed, she pulled Mary Poppins down to her.

'Kiss me, Mary,' she whispered, desperate, 'I need it, please.'

Mary bent and kissed first her cheek, then her lips softly – so softly, that if Winifred's eyes hadn't been open, she never would have known.

'You'll be fine,' Mary said quietly, tenderly, lovingly. But as the door opened, that gentle Mary had gone, replaced once more with the briskly professional nanny.

***

Winifred was surprised that it didn't take long at all, and even more surprised that it was not unduly painful. She half-suspected that Mary's calming presence had something to do with it, for she knew methods unknown even to the doctor to keep Winifred calm, to alleviate her pain, to speed up her delivery.

And soon, only a few hours later, Winifred lay proudly in her bed, her newest child cradled in her arms.

The baby had hair of the brightest gold, and eyes so blue they almost – almost – outshone those of Mary Poppins. She had rosebud-pink lips and skin as fine as porcelain.

The doctor had left, and Mary Poppins was the only other person in the room.

'We'll call her Annabel,' Winifred whispered softly, looking down at her child.

Mary nodded, taking the baby out of Winifred's arms to bring her to the nursery.

'Will you send Mr. Banks up, please, Mary?' Winifred called after her as Mary walked to the door. For a moment, she stopped, then turned to face Winifred.

'I'm sure he's on his way,' Mary stated quietly. As she exited the room, Winifred could not help but giggle at her sharp tone towards Mrs. Brill and Robertson Ay.

Only a few moments later, she heard her husband's thundering steps on the stairs. She tried to keep a solemn expression on her face as he entered, but failing miserably.

'Well!' he exclaimed, sitting at the foot of the bed. 'This is all very awkward. Very awkward indeed. I don't know that I can afford it. I hadn't bargained for five.'

'I'm so sorry!' Winifred said, a happy smile on her face.

'You're not sorry,' he said sternly, 'not a bit. In fact you're very pleased and conceited about it. And there's no reason to be. It's a very small one.'

'I like them that way,' Winifred replied, 'besides, it will grow.'

'Yes, unfortunately!' he said, his tone bitter. 'And I shall have to buy it shoes and clothes and a tricycle. Yes, and give it a Good Start in Life. A very expensive proceeding. And then, after all that, when I'm an old man sitting by the fire, it will go away and leave me. You hadn't thought of that, I suppose?'

'No,' Winifred replied, still trying and failing to look sombre, 'I hadn't.'

'I thought not. Well, there it is. But, I warn you, I shall not be able to afford to have the bathroom re-tiled.'

Winifred smiled consolingly, her tone comforting. 'Don't worry about that,' she said, 'I really like the old tiles best.'

'Then you're a very stupid woman,' he snapped, 'that's all I have to say.' He left, still muttering angrily, as Winifred lay in her bed smiling. Not even her husband's words could dampen her good mood, especially as she knew he didn't mean it. No, nothing could ruin her happiness now – not today.

***

And two weeks later, when the stars sang, Winifred's happiness was complete.


	12. Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE

* * *

A/N: If you're unhappy about the way this chapter ended, blame RevSue! ;)

* * *

Annabel had grown immeasurably in the two weeks since her birth – in size, at least. But, like every child before her (except Mary Poppins), within those two weeks she forgot so much – where she had come from, how to speak to the animals, how to communicate with Mary. Mary was saddened – she had hoped that Annabel would retain her knowledge of life a bit longer, but that was not to be.

When Annabel was two weeks old, the children were sent to their grandmother's country house for the week. Mr. Banks' mother wanted to meet the newest edition to their family, and Mr. Banks, who had taken the week off from the bank, took them down on the Friday afternoon train, accompanied by Ellen. Mary Poppins stayed behind to close up the house, and Winifred managed to make excuses to her husband that allowed her to remain in London.

It was late when Winifred finally went to bed, having spent the day out shopping. When she had returned earlier that evening, Mary was nowhere to be found. Winifred was disappointed – she had hoped that, now they were alone, they would be able to talk. Apparently not.

After finding a plate of dinner in the kitchen, left for her by Mary, she mounted the stairs to her room. Not bothering to unpack her purchases, Winifred drew a bath, relaxing in the steaming water. It was several hours later when she emerged, and still Mary had not returned. Sighing sadly, she slipped between her sheets and fell asleep.

It was much later that night when Winifred awoke, not knowing why she was awakened from what had seemed to be a sound slumber. As she climbed out of bed, remarkably awake for such a late hour, she noticed she had left her windows open.

As she stepped over to close them, she paused for a moment, hearing voices. She knew her children were not in the house, and she did not believe Mary was back yet, suspecting that she had gone to Bert's. Anyway, the voices sounded like they were singing, and her children did not sing.

She stuck her head out of the window, thinking the voices came from outside. There was no one in the garden, but the voices seemed clearer, somehow. As she took a cursory glance upwards, she gasped.

The stars in the sky seemed brighter and larger than ever before – she could have sworn they were shaped like people... and they were singing! Their voices were clear and silvery, even at their great distance, and as Winifred turned her face up to the heavens like a sunflower soaking up the rays of the sun, her bedroom door opened.

Winifred turned, knowing that it could only be Mary who would enter. Mary... Mary had been right, she hadn't lied, and here she was now! Living proof of what she had promised two weeks ago.

It was indeed Mary at the door, her dark hair for once unbound, flowing down her back. She was wearing nothing but a simple white cotton nightgown – even her feet were bare. Her expression was curious – she looked as though she was a martyr going to face her destiny at the stake – and indeed that was what she was. For there was no turning back after what Mary had promised – and while she desired it as much as Winifred, there was so much more for her to lose.

'Good evening, Winifred,' Mary's voice floated across the room, sounding sweeter, to Winifred, than the still-singing stars.

'Good evening, Mary.'

For a moment, Mary looked at Winifred – a look that spoke of the fear of the unknown, a lust for what would inevitably happen, a sadness for the betrayal of a lover. And then she stepped towards her.

Winifred was far less timid, striding towards Mary, wrapping her arms around her. Her lips sought Mary's, and as they met, Mary moaned softly.

'Mary,' Winifred breathed when they broke apart, 'oh, Mary...'

Mary smiled shyly, looking a completely different woman than the briskly efficient nanny she appeared. 'I did promise, didn't I?'

Winifred beamed. 'You did, but I didn't think this would actually happen.'

'I don't break my promises,' Mary said quietly, seriously, resting a soft hand on Winifred's cheek. Winifred stepped closer to Mary, wrapping an arm around her waist, her other hand straying lower.

'I'm glad you don't,' Winifred whispered, beginning to lift up Mary's nightgown. 'I'm very glad you don't...'

With a gentle sigh, Mary disengaged Winifred's hands, instead beginning to undress Winifred. She was very delicate in her task, pausing often to kiss her, caress her. But Mary hesitated as she began to lift Winifred's nightdress above her head.

'Are you sure you want this, Winifred?' Mary asked her, concerned that she was not doing the right thing. After all, Winifred, too, had something to lose if this liaison was discovered.

'I'm sure,' Winifred replied, pulling her nightdress over her head as she spoke.

Mary stared for a moment, trying to absorb Winifred's beauty into her mind for all time. Her breasts, larger now after the baby was born, were soft and rounded. Her waist was slender, though not as supple as before the baby, and her hips were slightly wider than before her pregnancy. Soft golden hair fell below her shoulders, glowing in the silvery light of the stars.

All this was absorbed by Mary, to be treasured when the night was over and she was alone once more. But as much as she wanted to watch Winifred in that moment forever, she knew she could not. The night would end too soon as it was, and Mary was selfish enough to prolong their ecstasy for as long as she could.

Mary turned away from Winifred as she undressed, shy even after she had caressed Winifred the way she had. When she was naked, she folded her nightdress neatly, setting it at the foot of the bed, before turning to her.

It was Winifred's turn to stare, gaping at the body that seemed too perfect to be real – the slender waist, the narrow hips, the long, long legs, the perfectly-shaped breasts – all of which had not yet been – would never be – touched by time. Winifred felt rather inadequate standing in front of Mary, in front of this woman who looked beyond human imperfection.

But then Mary stepped closer to her, resting her hands on Winifred's shoulders.

'We don't have to do this,' Mary said quietly, noticing Winifred's discomfort. 'It's perfectly all right...'

Winifred leaned forward and kissed Mary full on the lips, silencing her protests.

'I want this,' she said.

Mary nodded, and, taking Winifred's hand, led her to the bed.


	13. Chapter 13

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

As Winifred joined Mary in bed, she tangled her hands in her dark, silky locks. Mary smiled nervously, though her nervousness was belied by the rather passionate kiss she bestowed upon Winifred's waiting lips.

While Mary's lips moved against hers, Winifred slipped her hands around her waist, feeling the smooth, satiny skin beneath her fingers. One hand slipped down even lower, cupping her buttocks, the other sliding up to cup her breast.

'Oh,' Mary sighed quietly, her legs spreading slightly. As Winifred explored, caressed the unknown expanse of Mary's body, Mary reached out to Winifred. And from that moment on, everything seemed a blur.

It was a delicious, sublime tangle of limbs as they rolled around on the bed, kisses often landing on shoulders, collarbones, necks, rather than on the lips. Their kisses were greedy, desperate, as softness pressed against softness, while slender, tapering fingers investigated, feeling the texture of skin so rarely touched, caressing curves always hidden beneath clothes...

For Winifred, the exquisite torture of Mary's hands on her skin was nearly unbearable. It was so soft, so tender – far different from anything she had known with her husband. He had been rough, and while she had enjoyed his masculine attempts at love-making, this was different – purer, somehow, and cleaner.

As she laid back, allowing Mary free reign, she could not help but try desperately to encourage Mary to touch her where she needed to be touched. Mary did not listen to her silent pleas, moving slowing, nearly systematically as she explored every inch of Winifred's body.

But finally Mary settled herself between her legs, reaching out, caressing, kissing... touching places no one ever had before, let alone with lips and tongue and... oh, she could not help but let out a breathless, desperate moan, could not help but clutch frantically at whatever was in reach. And then, finally, the pinnacle of bliss was reached, just when she thought nothing more could surpass the sensations she felt, and Winifred cried out in ecstasy. As her back arched, and she cried out Mary's name, Mary smiled as she saw the effects of her ministrations.

'Mary, Mary, Mary,' Winifred moaned, hands gripping the bedcovers spasmodically, hips bucking wildly, as her passion washed over her. 'Oh, yes, Mary!'

With one final shudder, she collapsed on top of the sheets. Mary watched her silently, absorbing the beauty of her body resting against the sheets, the way her golden hair still gleamed softly by the light of the now-silent stars.

As Winifred lay on top of the sheets, her body arranged in a soft curve, she allowed herself to slip into a contented, restful sleep. Mary watched her for a few moments more, eyes tracing the contours of Winifred's frame.

'I...' she whispered, but couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence. She... what? She loved her? But she didn't love Winifred, did she? No, she couldn't love her. She desired her, certainly, lusted for her, definitely... but she didn't love her. She loved Bert. She always had loved him and always would. Because if she didn't love him anymore... she couldn't face that possibility – not when it was her fault that he would live forever, never have a normal life. As long as she loved him, everything would be fine, but if she stopped...

Yet it was with great reluctance and quite a bit of sadness, that Mary Poppins stepped out of the bed, got dressed, and walked out the door – and out of Winifred's dream.

***

In the room adjoining the children's nursery at Mr. Banks' mother's home, Mary Poppins woke up. She was breathing heavily, the ghost of Winifred's kisses still on her lips. She could still feel her hands on her, still hear Winifred's moans... and Mary knew that that was the closest she would ever come to Winifred again.

She couldn't trust herself near Winifred anymore, not after this. She knew that everything would change, after that moment within a dream, yet, she could not help herself. She had had to kiss her, had to caress her... some impulse she could not control had governed her actions that night – and she had never regretted her actions more. To taste what she had so longed for, then be forced to deny it from herself for the rest of eternity?

With a terrible, shuddering sigh, Mary Poppins broke down and began to cry.

***

When Winifred Banks woke up, she was not in her bedroom in Number Seventeen, Cherry Tree Lane, but was sleeping next to her husband in the guest bedroom of his mother's country house. She couldn't believe she was here – the dream had felt so real! – but apparently it had only been a dream.

As she stepped quietly into the bathroom, she sat down on the small bench near the door and rested her head in her hands. Why did she have to dream this again? But this time had been so much worse – it had seemed so real – too real to be just a dream.

She could still feel Mary's hands on her body, hear her voice murmuring to her, taste her lips on hers... it was torture, and not the exquisite torture of passion, but the painful, heartrending ache of longing.

As Winifred stood up from the bench and walked to the sink, she forced herself to look in the mirror. Her face was pale, eyes slightly puffy from crying and lack of sleep, tearstains still present on her cheeks. Who would love a face like this? she thought, provoking another round of tears.

As Winifred washed her face, then dried it, she left the room hurriedly, without looking back in the mirror. It was some time that afternoon that she realised she had forgotten to put back on her wedding ring. Returning to the bathroom, she chanced one more glance in the mirror.

Her blouse had shifted slightly during the course of the day, and Winifred could see a slight red mark on her collarbone – in the exact place Mary had kissed. Eagerly pulling the thin fabric away, she found that there was, indeed a mark on her shoulder – in the exact shape of a star.

It had happened after all... was all Winifred could think as she eagerly removed her clothes, searching for more marks. They were there, in ever place Mary had kissed, and, as Winifred stood naked in the bathroom, she thanked every deity she knew that what she had dreamed really happened.


	14. Chapter 14

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

***

A/N: As promised, this chapter includes a rather juicy Mary/Bert carpetbag.

***

The week in the country extended until two weeks, though Mr. Banks had returned to the city at the end of the first week. Winifred, who had never been happier in her life, was content to lay about the house, watching her children run free outside. George's mother's house was situated on quite a lot of land, and the children had the time of their lives running about and exploring the country.

Mary, however, was not happy, and she used Annabel as an excuse to remain indoors and away from Winifred. She should be happy – after all, she had finally been with Winifred, but... but she couldn't help but feel guilty. How could she not feel guilty? She had betrayed Bert by giving into desires she had no right to have.

She had to tell him, but she did not know how to explain it to him. But how could she tell him? It would break his heart. He had given up everything for her, and he had had a choice – he could have had a normal life! He could have been happy without her! But no – she was selfish, and while she never asked him to stay, he knew that was what she wanted. And it had been – it still was!

***

Three weeks had passed from the night when Mary had entered Winifred's dream – three weeks, and yet Mary's guilt felt stronger than ever. And today was Her Day...

If they had still been in the country, there would have been nothing strange in saving Her Day for another one – after all, it would be ridiculous to take the train to see him for just a few hours, and she did not want to use her Magic when people could see. But no – they were in London again, and there was no excuse she could provide that would keep her from seeing Bert.

And so, as was their custom, she stepped out of Number Seventeen, Cherry Tree Lane at one minute past midnight and into his waiting arms.

'Hello, Bert,' she said quietly, pulling back from him almost immediately.

'Hello, Mary,' he replied, looking down at her oddly. She was different today, and he wasn't quite sure why. As she raised her head, looking up at him, he noticed that her face was pale and drawn. However, he held his tongue, taking her hand in his. 'Let's go, hmm?' he suggested, and she nodded silently, squeezing his hand.

He watched her as they walked to his flat, noting the slight slump of her shoulders, the droop of her head, the paleness of her skin. She had been unhappy, and he didn't know why.

When they reached his flat, she stepped inside and walked over to his bed, beginning to undress herself. He stopped her, taking her hands in his, and sat down on the bed, pulling her down with him.

'What's wrong, Mary?' he asked her tenderly, resting one rough hand on her cheek.

To his great surprise, she started to cry, grasping his hands tightly as she sobbed. He comforted her as best he could, holding her close as she continued to weep.

Finally, her tears came to an end, and she looked up at him.

'I'm sorry, Bert,' she whispered, 'I don't know what came over me.'

He kissed her forehead lightly. 'It's all right,' he said, 'but what's wrong?'

She shifted uncomfortably in his lap, unable to look at him. 'I – I can't talk about it,' she mumbled.

He sighed. 'Please, Mary – you know you can tell me anything.'

For a moment, she wished to tell him everything – how she had wanted Winifred, had kissed her, slept with her... – but she couldn't do that to him.

'I... I just... oh, Bert...' she burst into tears once more, unable to face her actions now that she must tell her lover of her actions. 'Bert, I'm terribly sorry for everything.'

'For what, love?' he asked.

'For everything,' she replied, sniffling slightly, 'for everything. I can't say anything more than that.'

He tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, kissing her temple lightly. 'I love you, you know.'

'Do you really?' she asked him quietly.

'Yes,' he replied simply, 'I'll love you no matter what happens.'

'Kiss me, Bert,' she demanded softly. 'Please.'

He capitulated to her demands, bending to meet her soft lips with his. She twined her arms around his neck, pushing away all her guilty feelings as she returned his kisses.

However could she have believed that she loved Winifred? Bert was the only one she would ever love. As he slowly unbuttoned her bodice, she smiled for the first time in a long time. He smiled down at her too, kissing her forehead, cheeks, lips, neck, and lower, his kisses erasing her memory of the few caresses Winifred had bestowed upon her.

It was the tenderness in his actions that soothed her and calmed her guilty heart. His hands, so large and rough from work, were gentle with her – stroking and caressing lightly, slowly baring her skin to his eyes.

'I love you, Bert,' she whispered, smiling at him. As he smiled down at her, she forgot, for a moment, all that had happened in the past years. For a moment, they were just Bert and Mary, two people in love.

'Mary, darling,' he whispered, resting his hand on the curve of her hip.

She smiled, tangling her fingers in his hair, resting her forehead against his. She'd thought that she would never be able to be like this again, thought that she had forsaken this easy intimacy with Bert when she had indulged in her passion for Winifred, but apparently not.

As he moved closer to her, he resting his chin on her shoulder, kissing the back of her neck, running his hand along the curves of her back, settling it on her buttocks. She moaned slightly, moving her leg to wrap around his hip. As he began to caress her breasts, she moved her hand lower, caressing him.

He groaned, a deep sound that woke a long-dormant passion in Mary. With a sigh of her own, she wrapped her arms around him, casting herself headlong into love with him. She would never turn back – she could never turn back – and indeed she did not want to.

No, for Mary there would never be anyone else – and as she kissed him, she felt the last vestiges of guilt slip away. If she did dedicate herself to Bert now, her past actions would not matter. Why should she cause him pain for something that he didn't need to know? She would never do it again.

He rolled her onto her back as she wrapped her legs around his hips, moaning loudly as he pumped into her.

'Mary... Mary... Mary...' he chanted her name like a mantra as he moved within her, looking down at her lovingly.

Her eyes were open, her gaze locked with his, as she continued to roll her hips in time with his. 'I love you,' she whispered, 'I love you.'

He kissed her, his tongue duelling with hers as his thrusts grew more erratic. She felt her own passion growing with his, and as he began to come, she gasped slightly.

'Oh, yes!' he cried out, pushing into her once more. 'Oh, darling, I love you.'

She cried out his name, wrapping her arms around him. As they reached the heights of passion together, she clung to him, not wanting to lose him.

And then they fell back to earth, limbs tangled together, her head resting on his chest. As she wrapped her arms around him, trying to catch her breath, he kissed her hair lightly.

'I love you, Mary,' he whispered.

She smiled up at him. 'I love you, Bert – I'll never love anyone else.'

He returned her smile, kissing her lips lightly. For a moment, something in her eyes shifted as she looked at him – a kind of... reconciling, though there was a certain amount of pain in her gaze. In actuality, she had reconciled herself to never being with Winifred again, had wrenched her heart firmly away from Winifred's grasp and deposited it in Bert's hands. She would never go back to Winifred, though she might return to the Banks' house.

No, she vowed privately to herself, her heart belonged to Bert, now and forevermore. And as she kissed him again, she knew it to be true.


	15. Chapter 15

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

***

It was nearly time for her to leave again – Annabel, who was six months old now, was very amiable and would take quite easily to another nanny. It was nearly time for Jane to begin school, and Michael would be off to school a few years later as well. The twins, who had learned to walk a few months previous, were the only troublemakers – but their mischief was the innocent fun of children, not prompted by malice.

During the past few months, Mary had managed to stay away from Winifred. Of course she still saw her often, but Mary did not linger in rooms as she had in days passed, hoping for a moment or two alone. Nor did Winifred seek her out – she seemed to sense that something in Mary had changed.

And Mary had changed – for the better, she hoped. She was calmer now, more settled, now that she had vowed to love only Bert. It was easier to interact with Winifred – she was no longer overwhelmed with memories when she saw her or spoke to her. And when she did think of it, the memories seemed dimmed, as though she was viewing them from a long way away.

She knew it was for the best – after all, she had no future with Winifred. How could she? Winifred was married, and a mother, and Mary had Bert. Even if those obstacles were not in the way, she didn't love Winifred – she couldn't love her! Society wouldn't approve, and while, in the theatrical circles, there were certainly women who indulged in these... tendencies... Mary was not one of them – and nor was Winifred.

***

Winifred was happy now – how could she be unhappy? Mary had given in, at long last, and they had made love... at least, that's what Winifred supposed she would call it. It certainly wasn't like making love with her husband, but it had been making love.

She never believed that love-making could be so pure, so clean, so beautiful – it had been a poem of the senses, absolutely overwhelming in its magnificence... and Winifred knew that, even if they never made love again, the memory of it would sustain her for the rest of her life.

Though Mary had seemed withdrawn in the days afterwards, Winifred had not noticed, borne away on a cloud of ecstasy. Never before and never again would she experience such a blissful state of being, and she held on to that feeling as long as she could. By the time she realised something with Mary was off, Mary was beyond her reach.

She didn't know what had happened to Mary to make her so peculiar – there was a peculiar aloofness in her eyes – though it quite unlike the arrogance of previous months. No, there was something more... human, in her stare – but, at the same time, she seemed as though she had transcended human emotions.

Perhaps it was for the best – after all, she knew she never could be with Mary. One night with her was enough... it had to be. And seeing Mary every day was enough. But what about when Mary left again?

***

It was almost time – almost, but not quite. Mary could feel something in the wind shift, could sense the changes in the air about her. Soon it would be time for her to leave... and, to tell the truth, she was ready to go. She no longer wanted to see Winifred every day, no longer wanted to remember what she had done. She was ashamed – not ashamed of what she had done, but ashamed she had done it – for Bert's sake, if not her own. She had betrayed his trust in her, had sought love elsewhere, when she knew that he could – and would – provide her with everything she could ever hope to want.

Even though she had forgiven herself for her actions (except for those late nights alone, when she woke up from dreams on Winifred), she could not help but feel guilty when she spent Her Days with Bert.

Soon she would have to tell him – she felt guilty – too guilty – to continue as it was. And, selfishly, she hoped that she could put off telling him for some time yet – hoped that she would be sent somewhere far away, giving her time to gather her courage. In the meantime, she would keep doing what she'd always done.

***

It was time – finally, it was time. The Magic Merry-Go-Round had come to the Park, and after the children had their turn, it was Mary's.

'Single or return?' asked the Ticket Collector.

'I'd better take a return, just in case,' replied Mary, handing him his payment. She leapt eagerly onto the horse, holding tight to her umbrella as it took off into the skies.

Below her, she could see the Banks children looking forlorn and abandoned – she felt a slight pang of guilt, but nothing could be done about it. It was Bert, who stood a bit apart from the children, who tugged at her heart. Was he really happy with her coming and going so often? She could not truly believe it. Perhaps he would be happier without her...

***

As Bert watched her glide away on the Merry-Go-Round horse once again, he felt his heart sink. He wanted her to stay with him, though he knew it was impossible. She would never stay.

She'd been so peculiar those last few times together, and he still didn't know why. It was something to do with the Banks family, that was certain – after all, what else could it be? It had started during her time there, and had gotten worse the longer she remained there. Perhaps now, away from them, it would be better. He could only hope...

***

The Horse took her on a course far different from the children's, carrying her through the clouds, over London, and into the countryside. She watched as England spread out beneath her feet, a beautiful picture of green lawns dotted with large manor houses. Her Horse began its descent when they approached the largest house yet, and as Mary graciously dismounted, she took a deep breath.

She was nervous – as much as she hated to admit it, she was – and that scared her. How could she have allowed her practically-perfect façade to slip so much? Perhaps – perhaps she really should reconsider the decision she had made all those years ago. Perhaps she should change her mind...

As she rang the bell of the great house, she sighed inwardly. 'Here we go again,' she thought, as the door opened.

'Yes?' said the butler who answered the door.

'I'm the new nanny,' Mary Poppins replied, and stepped into the spacious entrance hall. With a barely-suppressed sigh, she resigned herself to the fact that she would most likely never escape her destiny.


	16. Chapter 16

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

***

The dialogue in this chapter is taken from _Mary Poppins Opens the Door_.

***

Perhaps it was the fresh country air, or perhaps it was the fact that the children didn't really need her extraordinary talents, but Mary finally had a chance to recuperate. Quite unlike her time in Scotland, she enjoyed roaming the countryside here, never tiring of taking the two children – Emma and John – outdoors.

Surprisingly, she found herself thinking of her life in London – Bert, Winifred, the Banks children – less and less as the days went by. The country seemed to soothe the sharp edges of her memories, blurring those that were far less happy than the ones she made now. It was restful here – calm, quiet, soothing – and Mary rejoiced in the chance to finally sort through her thoughts.

She came to the conclusion that she take one more position after her current one, and then would go back to the House and tell her that she had changed her mind. Bert would agree with her decision, she knew he would – then they could get married, have a family... losing their memories of the past seven years and losing their immortality would be a fair price to pay – wouldn't it? They could have everything they ever wanted – and while Mary would have to give up the knowledge of her family, give up her Magic... it was a sacrifice she was willing to make to be happy.

Yes, she decided, one more position. One more... and then she would make the decision she should have made all those years ago.

***

Her last position was, ironically enough, at the house where this had all began. Not where she had made the decision to learn of her family, her powers – but the house where she had realised that she was profoundly unhappy. If she had never come here, never set foot into Number Seventeen, Cherry Tree Lane, she might still be soldiering on, taking care of other people's children for the rest of her life.

No, perhaps it was for the best that she had come back to Number Seventeen, Cherry Tree Lane – it was the beginning and the end, and the symmetry of that fact pleased her. And she would have the chance to say goodbye to the family who had affected her the most – for better and for worse.

Her reappearance was the most ostentatious yet – but she could not resist going out with a bang. As she thought that, she chuckled slightly to herself – perhaps it was good that she was leaving this profession, for Mary Poppins, practically perfect as she was, did not make puns.

It was Guy Fawkes Night, the perfect time for her reappearance. As she descended from the skies by aid of a firework, she felt a sharp surge of nostalgia for what she had not yet lost. She would not be able to fly in her new life, and while she would not know what she was missing, she could not help but ache for the memories she could not keep.

As soon as she landed, as prim and perfect as ever, she could not help but give a ghost of a smile. For there, waiting as eagerly as the Banks children for her return, was Bert.

It was some time before she could speak to him, having to sort out the Park Keeper first. She did not understand what the fuss was about – after all, she had her return ticket, didn't she? And why was it any of his business in the first place?

But finally she managed to get rid of him, and she approached Bert with the Banks children in tow.

'Which of you, I'd like to know, has been playing with lighted candles?' she asked sternly, looking at Bert.

'I lit it, Mary,' Bert replied happily, 'I wanted to write you a –' he gestured to the nearly-finished drawing on the pavement. 'Welcom', it read.

She smiled softly, touched. 'That's a lovely greeting, Bert,' she said tenderly.

He grabbed her black-gloved hands. 'Shall I see you on Thursday, Mary?' he asked her eagerly.

She nodded. 'Thursday, Bert,' she replied, then looked at the children. 'No dawdling, if you please!' she snapped commandingly, leading them across the Park and into Number Seventeen.

As soon as she opened the door to Number Seventeen, Mary knew that she had not returned a moment too soon. It was chaos in the house, and as she entered, she spied Mrs. Banks collapse on the stairs.

'Can it be you, Mary Poppins?' she gasped as she spied her.

Mary looked at her, feeling only a faint echo of her past feelings. 'It can, ma'am,' she replied calmly.

'But – where did you spring from?' she exclaimed.

'She sprang right out of a –' Michael began, stammering into silence as Mary glared at him.

'I came from the Park, ma'am,' she said coolly.

'Thank goodness!' she breathed with absolute sincerity, then remembered the pain she had suffered after Mary's untimely – and unexpected – disappearance. She couldn't be too pleased...

'You left me Without a Word, Mary Poppins,' she said, attempting to be stern, 'I think you might tell me when you're coming and going. I never know where I am.'

'Nobody does, ma'am,' Mary replied.

'Don't _you_, Mary Poppins?' Winifred asked wistfully.

'Oh, _she_ knows,' Michael said, earning another stern glare from Mary.

'Well, you're here now, anyway!' Winifred said happily.

'Yes, ma'am,' Mary replied, her tone nearly colourless. 'Excuse me.' As she sent her things upstairs ahead of her, she resisted the urge to look back at Winifred. She mounted the stairs a few moments later, the children following eagerly behind her.

Walking over to the clothes closet, she touched it lightly and stepped back as her belongings appeared out of nowhere, setting themselves up in the spare room. While her belongings rearranged themselves, she bundled the children into their pyjamas, then bed.

As the children asked her to stay, she could not help but pause for a moment. Was she sure that her decision now was the right one?

'I'll stay –' she began, then paused again. 'I'll stay till the door opens,' she replied, staring at the nursery door.

'Oh, don't say that, Mary Poppins!' Jane wailed miserably, 'that door is always opening!'

'I meant the Other Door,' she replied derisively, buttoning her nightgown. Folding her clothes neatly, she laid down on her cot, falling asleep.

Meanwhile, Mr. and Mrs. Banks lay in their own bed, his arms wrapped lovingly around his wife. As he kissed her, she could not help but smile, even though the memory of other kisses, another presence in this bed still haunted her. But she was back now – and everything, absolutely everything, would be all right.

Down in the kitchen, Mrs. Brill, Ellen, and Robertson Ay expressed their mixed feelings about Mary Poppins's return, quiet murmurs of their discussion curling up to the ceiling like the steam from their cups of tea.

In the nursery, Jane and Michael Banks watched in pleasure as the parrot-headed umbrella picked gold and silver stars out of its folds, knowing that Mary Poppins was really back.

In his flat, Bert smiled happily to himself as he picked up his sketchpad, a half-finished drawing adorning the pages. As he sat there, drawing, Mary Poppins' profile emerged from the previously-drawn charcoal lines. He smiled when he thought that in only two days they would be together once again. Finally, they would be together once more.


	17. Chapter 17

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

'Bert!' she said softly, stepping out of Number Seventeen, Cherry Tree Lane. He stood beneath the lamppost, beaming at her.

'Hello, Mary love,' he said, stepping closer to her as she tripped lightly down the steps. She threw her arms around his neck, pressing a tender kiss to his lips.

When they broke apart, he looked down at her. Her eyes were shining, her smile was genuine, and she looked happy for the first time in a long time.

'Hello, Bert,' she said, her voice excited.

He smiled down at her, pleased that she seemed to be her old self once again.

'Bert, I wanted to ask you something,' she began, linking her arm through his as they walked to his flat.

'Yes, Mary?'

'Bert, I was wondering – that is, I was hoping...'

He knew it must be something important if she was unable to articulate her thoughts. 'You can ask me anything – I hope you know that.'

She smiled. 'I do. Bert, I wanted to ask you – well, I want to change my decision.'

His heart leapt in his breast at her words, though he tried to remain calm. He knew there was only one decision she would ever think of changing. 'Mary – do you mean –?'

She smiled again. 'Yes, Bert, that's what I mean,' she replied, still smiling. 'Do you approve?'

He lifted her up in his arms, spinning her around. A surprised giggle burst from her throat as he twirled her round and around.

Finally he set her down. 'I love you,' he said, kissing her. 'I love you so much.'

It seemed she would never stop smiling. 'I love you, Bert.'

'When will you tell them we've changed our minds?'

'I thought we'd go today,' she said, 'and tell them. And then the Door will open when we're ready.'

He looked down at her. 'You won't regret it, will you?' he asked her seriously.

'No, I won't,' she said. 'I should have made this choice long ago.'

He bent and kissed her tenderly. 'I love you.'

'Let's go home,' she whispered, kissing him again.

He nodded, slipping his arm around her waist, as they quickly walked to his flat.

***

'I do love you,' she whispered as he began to undress her. She helped him, discarding her dress on the floor, as he began to undress himself.

He returned to help her with her corset after he finished undressing, stepping behind her to unlace the stays. When the corset had joined the rest of their clothes on the ground, he laid his hands on her still-slender waist, resting his forehead against hers.

'I love you,' he whispered. 'I love you more than life itself.'

She smiled softly. 'And I love you. Kiss me, darling.'

He obliged, his lips meeting hers tenderly. Picking her up, he laid her out on the bed, joining her. She was softer, warmer and more passionate than ever, more willing to give herself to him, happier to be with him.

She was dark like the night, her bones seeming to burn with liquid fire as he kissed her. She melted in his arms, her kisses slow, sensual as he rolled her onto her back.

'Why are you so perfect?' he asked her, his words muffled as he kissed the soft skin of her stomach. She lay back, her hands tangled in his hair, as he lavished her body with kisses.

'Mmm,' she murmured, her knees weak as his mouth moved lower. 'Oh, Bert.'

'Mary,' he whispered, 'My Mary.'

She moaned loudly as he finally entered her, kissing her all the while. 'My love, my love,' he groaned. 'Oh, I love you.'

She arched her back as he moved within her, continuing to moan loudly. She hadn't felt like this in a long time – too long, it seemed – and though she would not remember it, she could not help but move in time with him, arousing him as he aroused her.

When they did finally reach their climaxes, Mary cried out, collapsing on top of the sheets with him. He rested his large, work-roughened hand on her hip, once again noticing the contrast between his hand and the delicate porcelain of her skin. But then she laid her hand on his cheek and everything was forgotten.

***

Three o'clock in the afternoon saw Mary Poppins and Bert standing on the doorstep of a house that one might miss if one didn't look closely enough – it was rather inconspicuous, set in a small, quiet backstreet of London. Both Mary and Bert were in their finest attire, neatly buttoned up and pressed (though, for Mary, her appearance was much the same as it usually was), down to the parrot-headed umbrella she clutched tightly in her white-gloved hand.

Bert rapped sharply on the door, which was opened almost immediately by a tall woman with a rather severe expression. She broke into a smile when she saw them standing at the door.

'My dears!' she exclaimed, stepping aside, 'please come in!'

Mary clutched Bert's hand tightly as they stepped past the woman into the foyer of the house. As soon as the door closed behind them the woman enveloped Mary in a hug, then pulled back to study her. The woman's expression, which had once been all smiles, turned sad.

'You've changed your mind,' she said, and Mary nodded.

'I'm sorry, but I can no longer go on,' she explained, looking away from her. 'It's been too difficult.'

The woman sighed. 'Are you sure, Mary? You can't change your mind again.'

Mary looked at Bert, their eyes conferring for a moment, before she turned back to the woman.

'I'm sure.'

The woman nodded, leading Mary into the next room. Bert stayed in the foyer, giving the two women some moments alone.

'What made you change your mind, Mary?' she asked, sitting down on the sofa. Mary joined her. 'It's not Bert, is it?'

Mary shook her head. 'I... I kissed someone else,' she said softly, 'and more. I betrayed Bert. I can't live with this any longer... I can't bear the guilt I feel every time I think of it. I must forget.'

The woman embraced Mary as she sobbed, murmuring nonsense words to soothe her. 'And is that the only reason for your change of heart, Mary?' she asked.

'No,' she whispered, 'It's not fair to Bert any longer – I can't force him to go on as though everything is normal, when it's not. And I'm tired of coming and going all the time... I want to have a home, a family!'

'You do have a family,' the woman said softly.

'I know,' Mary replied, 'but... oh, it's just so difficult! Why do I have to choose?'

'We all had to choose, my dear,' the woman said, 'it was only because I was already married that my choice was that much easier. But it was still so difficult...' She trailed off for a moment, lost in memories, then looked back at Mary. 'Are you sure this is what you want?' she asked, and Mary nodded. 'You know that when the Door opens, you'll lose your Magic and your memories of it.' She nodded again. 'Then all I can say is good luck, darling.' The woman pressed a gentle kiss to Mary's forehead, tightening her embrace.

'I've made this decision under much duress, you know,' Mary told her seriously. 'And I will miss you.'

The woman nodded, a tear slipping down her cheek. 'And I'll miss you, my dear. But as long as you're happy...'

Mary nodded fervently. 'I know I'll be happy.'

'Then that's all I can wish for you.'

Mary nodded, kissing the woman on the cheek. 'I love you, Mum.'

'And I love you, Mary. Be safe, my dear. I'm sorry that I shall have to lose you.'

'As am I. But you still will be able to see me, won't you? Even if I don't know who you are?'

Mary's mother nodded. 'Yes, I shall. And I shall try to see you as often as I can, though it will be difficult.'

'Am I making the right decision?' asked Mary nervously.

'Yes, you are,' she replied. 'As much as I hate to lose you, I do think you are making the right choice.'

With a final embrace, Mary left her mother on the couch, rejoining Bert in the foyer. Her mother watched as he took Mary into his arms, whispering softly into her ear. She kissed him, then turned to her mother, who nodded.

Yes, she was making the right decision – her mother was sure of it. But was Mary making it for the right reasons?

As she watched her daughter leave the house, arm-in-arm with the man Mary loved, she sighed. Would everything turn out for the best? She thought so – she hoped so.


	18. Chapter 18

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

***

A/N: This is the last official chapter - the epilogue will be up later today. Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed! I really appreciate it.

***

It was her custom, as was the custom of every creature who knew of it, to attend the Party given during the ten strokes between the New and Old Years – in the Crack where everything was topsy-turvy and fairytales came to life. Though she knew many of its attendees, she always felt slightly out-of-place – she could not help but be constantly reminded that she was the odd one out, that she did not belong here. This year – her last in this World – was different.

The Party was in honour of her. All the guests bowed and catered to her every whim, insisting she dance with them, playing her favourite tunes, swirling her around as the seconds ticked by. The Banks children were there, having followed her into the Crack, but for once she paid them no mind. This was her night tonight, and she was determined to enjoy herself to the full – even though she would not remember it.

It was at the Party, held between the New and Old Years, when Mary knew the Door would open soon. Why else would the Party be held in her honour? While she was much loved by those she knew, despite her rather frosty exterior to her charges, she had never before believed she would garner such respect from the Guests. They knew that she would not long be in their World, and to give the Party in her honour was the highest form of praise They could expend.

It had been a difficult year for Mary. Every day there was a moment when she wondered whether or not she was doing the right thing. She knew she was, but it was difficult to stay firmly attached to her resolution when she saw Winifred, or when she thought of her mother. And now, as she spun lightly across the dance floor, she could not help but realise, for the first time, what she would lose.

She would not remember her friends – Nellie-Rubina, Neleus, the Starling (as much as they insulted each other, he was very dear to her), the Stars, Mrs. Cory... and all the dear Guests at this party. She would never again fall into the Crack, never spend the time between the New and Old Years dancing. The Wind would never carry her along the currents of the air. Her parrot-headed umbrella would become wooden once more. She would no longer know her mother, or see those other relatives she had discovered she had.

But she would have Bert, and they would have a family! Finally, at long last, they could have children, a home... be together as they had always dreamed. It would not replace her Magic, but it would be enough.

***

She felt her Magic begin to seep away after the New Year arrived. At first, it was only slightly noticeable – the Wind seemed muffled when it spoke to her; its presence seemed less tangible during the cold winter nights – but then it became more pronounced. By the time the Door appeared, shining bright in the fireplace of the Nursery, it had all but gone.

She knew when she awoke that the Door would appear today. It was beautiful outside – the sun was shining and the sky was blue, even though it was the middle of January. The snow from previous weeks had melted, and it was considerably warmer than a normal midwinter day. Bundling up the Banks children, she escorted them to the Park, where Bert was screeving.

It was difficult, but they managed a few moments alone. As they talked, he drew a bouquet of flowers for her, each one different and equally beautiful. Before they left the Park for the last time, she was seized with one final, uncharacteristic fit of whimsy. As she took the flowers out of the chalk pavement picture, she smiled sadly as she felt them materialise in her hand. She knew it would be the last Magic she would ever do.

The children swarmed around her as she beckoned them back, smiling over her shoulder at Bert.

***

Back in the nursery, the Door called to her as the Wind once had, beckoning her to step through. But she could not – not yet.

The children were occupied with their Christmas presents, and Mary just had time to slip downstairs. Winifred was sitting at the breakfast table, sipping a cup of tea, though she looked up when Mary entered the room.

She was utterly surprised when Mary approached her, kneeling down beside her chair.

'Take care, Winifred,' she whispered, and kissed her smooth cheek lightly, lingeringly. And then, as suddenly as she had come, she was gone. Winifred sat there for several minutes, wondering what had happened, before she darted up to the nursery – but she was too late to catch anything but the barest of final glimpses of Mary Poppins.

***

When Mary returned, she picked up her bags, striding across the room. She was solely focused on the Door, ignoring the pleas of the Banks children. She could not allow herself to look back – if she did, she might never fulfil what had been set into motion. But she could not leave without seeing them once more, and she turned just as she reached the threshold.

The four eldest Banks children watched her, their eyes sad, as she waved the bouquet of flowers at them. For a brief moment, she considered abandoning her path and rushing back to the nursery to dry their tears and tell them everything would be all right – but then she remembered Bert, and the life she would finally have with him. And with a final sigh, she stepped through the door, allowing the Wind of this Other World to carry her off into the sky, where she would lose her old life, but gain another, perhaps better, one.

***

In Number Seventeen, Cherry Tree Lane, Winifred had finally rushed up the stairs, knowing in her heart that Mary Poppins had left them once more. But as her husband returned home, taking her into his arms, she could not be sad – not yet. Not when he was looking at her like he hadn't in so many years...

The children watched Mary depart, her figure as distant as a shooting star, and waved.

'We'll never forget you,' whispered Michael, hoping that Mary would hear.

And she did, her heart aching that she could not make the same promise. And as she ascended further into the heavens, she waved, saying her final good-byes.


	19. Chapter 19

EPILOGUE

***

A/N: This is then end! A big THANK YOU to all my readers and reviewers - I hope you enjoy this last bit!

***

It had been a very pleasant three years, thought Mary to herself as she walked into the nursery, very pleasant indeed. After eight years of waiting for Bert, they were finally married in a small ceremony exactly three years ago. After their honeymoon – they had gone to Brighton for a week – they settled down in a small house in London, which they leased under very favourable terms. Mary always felt there was something intensely familiar about the house, as though she had been there before, but they brushed it aside as déjà vu.

Her son was sitting up in his crib, his eyes bright as he gave her a smile.

'Hello, darling,' she cooed, picking him up. 'Are you ready to go to the Park?'

He gurgled happily as Mary tenderly dressed him, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead before laying him in his pram.

The walk to the Park was a familiar one, one they took nearly every day, and exceedingly pleasant. As she pushed the pram down a tree-lined avenue, she hummed softly to herself. Everything was peaceful, quiet, and Mary settled herself on a bench, taking her son out of his pram. As she cradled him, the serenity of the moment was broken by a woman's surprised cry.

***

It had been exactly three years since Winifred Banks had seen Mary Poppins – three incredibly lonely years. Yes, she had her husband, who had certainly been more attentive; her children, who were far less troublesome than they had been; her friends... but there was something missing in her life. And that something was Mary Poppins.

For longer than she cared to admit, Mary Poppins had been the glue that held her family together. And even though they no longer needed her to function, she was missed, especially by Winifred.

Had it really been more than three years since they had kissed? Some days it seemed as though it happened years ago, and others just moments previous, but, nevertheless, she longed for the touch of Mary's lips on hers nearly every day.

Her children were older now – Jane was at school, as was Michael, leaving only the Twins and Annabel at home with the new nanny. The house ran smoothly under her care, leaving Winifred with ample time on her hands.

Of late, Winifred had taken to walking along quiet streets, finding the solitude she so desperately craved. She had recently found a small Park, quite different from the Park near Cherry Tree Lane, and often visited it. Never before, however, had she gone so early in the day.

There was no one else in the park, save a woman and her child. There was something familiar about the woman, and, as Winifred spied her, her heart seemed to stop. No, it couldn't be her... but as she heard the woman speak, talking to her child, she knew it was true – it was Mary Poppins.

***

'Mary! Mary Poppins!' she cried out, forgetting, for a moment, that she was British, and one didn't do such things.

Mary looked up from the baby she cradled, a confused expression on her face.

'Mary, it's Winifred – Winifred Banks!' she exclaimed, coming closer to her.

'I'm terribly sorry, but I don't think I know you,' Mary said.

'Winifred Banks,' Winifred repeated, 'you took care of my children about ten years ago – you were our nanny.'

Mary cocked her head to the side, still perplexed. 'I don't think so.'

'Of course you did! You were the best nanny we ever had. You came and went three times... once flying away on an umbrella.'

Mary scoffed. 'Nonsense! A respectable person like me flying away on an umbrella? I'm sorry, you really must be mistaken.'

'But your name is Mary Poppins, isn't it?' Winifred asked, desperate to keep her there although Mary began to prepare to leave.

'Yes it is – well, it was. It's Mary Alfred now,' she said. 'And I'm afraid that I do not know you, nor have any idea what you are talking about.' Without further ado, Mary Poppins placed the baby back in the perambulator and walked away, leaving Winifred to stare at her retreating back.

'Don't you remember, Mary?' she cried after her, causing Mary to push the pram faster. 'When the stars sing?'

Mary stopped for a moment, and Winifred thought that she would turn back to her, but she continued on again.

***

When the stars sing... that phrase echoed in Mary's head long after she returned home that night, long after she had tucked her child in his crib, long after her husband had returned from work, long after they had both retired to bed. When the stars sing...

That night brought dreams so clear Mary felt they must be memories, all of them having one thing in common – the presence of the woman who had called herself Winifred. Memories of their bodies tangled together on white sheets, sweaty and sated; of her hand resting on the curve of the woman's waist; memories of lips meeting lips and arms embracing... oh, they felt too real to be imaginings of her mind! But when could they have happened? She didn't remember meeting the woman, let alone doing... that with her!

But that phrase... it struck a chord in her memory. She heard herself say it aloud, hoping to shed some light on the turbulent, dim recesses of her mind, but nothing happened.

That night, a Starling perched on her windowsill and sang.

***

Had she really not known her? She could not believe that, but she did not believe Mary could lie. How else to explain it but as a lapse in memory? Maybe that was why she had not seen her again – nor Bert, for that matter. Perhaps something had happened to them both to make them lose their memories, forget what had happened years ago.

She had looked so disapproving when Winifred had told her the – frankly highly unbelievable – methods of departure Mary had employed during her tenure as their nanny. Was that really surprising? She must've appeared mad, absolutely raving, and it was no wonder that Mary wanted to get away from her as soon as possible.

But how could she _forget_? That was what bothered Winifred. How could she forget her? Winifred was selfish enough to believe that, because she had never forgotten Mary, naturally Mary could not forget her. But apparently she could.

With a melancholy sigh, Winifred joined her husband in bed, keeping her experience with Mary private, a memory to hold close. She drifted off to sleep, dreaming once more of the dream-that-was-not-a-dream.

***

In the morning, Mary Poppins woke with the sound of the Starling's song still echoing in her ears. It had brought back so many half-remembered dreams, though she could not quite grasp them.

Just as she seemed on the brink of grasping what she had unknowingly forgotten, her husband stirred, waking. As she smiled down at him, giggling slightly as he pulled her down for a kiss, she pushed her dream out of her mind. Why did she have to search for a past she could not remember when she had such a happy future?

THE END


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